


You Shall Never Know My Secrets

by CallieB



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-01-19 04:18:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 84,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1455094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallieB/pseuds/CallieB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody's saying Southside Chicago is the garden of Eden. Hell, some people say God avoids this place altogether. But it's been Ian Gallagher's home for fifteen years...</p><p>AU in which neither Lip nor Mandy know that Ian is gay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Age Is Just A Number

**Author's Note:**

> I was playing around with the idea that Ian wasn't brave enough to turn Mandy down, and then I wondered what would have happened if Lip never found his dirty magazines. So this is a retelling from pre-Season 1 as if neither of them know he's gay... it's also my first Shameless fic, so let me know if I should keep writing!
> 
> Also, I'm British, so sorry if that shows! I've tried to be as American as I can... 'mom' not 'mum', 'trash' not 'rubbish' etc...

"How old are you?" Linda had asked when he'd applied for the job. She cast a critical eye over the scruffy teenager in front of her, noting the bloodstain by the collar of his t-shirt and the faintest hint of a bruise forming behind his left ear.

"Fourteen," Ian said. He was fidgeting, his foot tapping almost unconsciously. He had been fourteen for exactly five weeks, and it was already turning out to be a pretty eventful year.

Linda sighed. "Fine," she said. "You learn on the job; I don't have time to train you. You smoke those--" here she pointed a sharp finger at the packet of cigarettes bulging in Ian's jacket pocket "--in my store and you're fired. Clear?"

Ian was already nodding. "Clear," he said. Linda walked out from behind the counter.

"I have to go pick the boys up. Kash!" she called. A door at the back of the store banged open; Ian looked over to see Linda's husband making his way over to them. Ian swallowed. He'd always kind of had a crush on Kash, ever since he'd seen him shirtless one time when he was taking out the trash. Linda had yelled at him for it, but Ian would never forget the sight of that impressive chest.

"Ian, this is Kash," Linda was saying, and Ian shook himself back to the present moment. "You have any questions, ask him. He eats pork rinds, you tell me. Got it?"

"Got it," Ian said.

"I'm not kidding, I'll be smelling your breath later," she warned Kash. "You mother's expecting you and the boys to visit on Tuesday. Try and make it seem like you want to be there."

On that note, she swept out of the store. Ian looked over at Kash; he was fidgeting too, tugging on his shirt sleeve. His eyes met Ian's, and then he looked sheepishly at the floor. Ian grinned.

"She's kind of a hardass, huh?" 

"That's one way to put it," Kash replied. He had a deep, calm kind of voice. Ian liked that. He also liked that Kash didn't really swear. He didn't know many people Southside with mouths this clean. Kash was smiling at him, which was encouraging; Ian took a tentative step towards him.

"So, uh... I have to wear some kind of uniform?"

Kash shook his head. "There's an apron when you're dealing with the fresh fruit and veg." He looked briefly at Ian's bruised jawline. "Might help if your face wasn't busted up. What happened?"

"Some idiot headbutted me in the chin," he said. This was strictly true. The implication, however, that it had happened in a fight was completely false. He had actually sustained this particular injury during sex with Roger Spikey.

Roger Spikey was the reason that Ian's fourteenth year had already become his craziest one. He was a bit of a mystery at Ian's school; at first glance he seemed like your typical jock, all football and girls falling over him, but a second look would show that he was also stupidly smart and never seemed to actually go out with any of the girls. His parents were hippies, so he always brought vegan sandwiches and herbal tea in for lunch, which probably should have ostracised him were it not for the fact that he had the most enormous pair of fists anyone had ever seen. Large hands made for large feet, and large feet made for the rumour that led to his nickname Donkey Dick.

Ian knew he was gay - there'd never been a time when he hadn't known, really - but so far his experience with guys was limited to jacking off to a crumpled picture of Justin Timberlake in the bathroom. Roger might have been hot - and he was hot, gorgeous really, with blonde hair and an angular face - but he was way off Ian's radar. A year older, miles more popular, oozing intrigue and charm... Okay, so maybe Ian had checked him out a few times, but never in a million years had he ever imagined that on his fourteenth birthday Roger would decide to give him his most memorable gift.

Now, of course, just five brief weeks later, Roger's parents were whisking him off to California. Ian wasn't too bothered - the sex was, if he was honest, mediocre, and Roger didn't actually have a personality beyond the enormous dick - but it had meant that the last round they'd managed to get in was quick and fumbled in the alley behind school. Ian - who'd figured out very quickly that he was a top - pushed forward in one last thrust just as Roger leaned up for a kiss, and the fucker managed to headbutt him in the chin.

For obvious reasons, Ian was not about to tell Kash all that. He grabbed the apron being offered to him and threw it over his head, following Kash round to the display of fruit and vegetables. There was a box on the floor that needed to be sorted out; he started pulling oranges out of it and placing them in the display. As he loaded the oranges up, he must have knocked one of them; several pieces of fruit rolled down onto the floor.

"Shit!" Ian exclaimed, frantically trying to catch the falling oranges. He bent down, picking up some of the ones that had fallen; he was fully aware that he must look like a complete idiot with his ass in the air and his t-shirt sliding up his chest as he scrabbled about on the floor. However, as he straightened up, he found his eyes travelling up Kash's legs to his cock. And staying there.

Apparently Kash didn't think Ian looked like an idiot. He had a hard-on that put the cucumbers in the next display to shame.

"Um," Ian said. He was now fully straight, but his eyes were fixed on the enormous bulge in Kash's pants. A quick glance at Kash's face told him, however, that the older man might not have noticed where Ian was looking. Given that he was pretty distracted gazing at the equally large bulge at Ian's crotch.

Ian cleared his throat awkwardly, and Kash looked up quickly. His cheeks were pink. He said: "Well... Looks like you know what you're doing over here. Call me if you have any problems." With that, he strode away - as best he could with the almost-painful-looking erection tenting his pants.

Ian carried on putting the oranges away, his teeth nibbling on his lower lip. He was trying to figure out what had just happened. Had his new boss seriously got a hard-on from watching his ass wiggle around? Could that mean what he thought it meant? The idea of fucking Kash... he felt himself stiffen even more at the mere thought. And Ian was bold enough - or maybe stupid enough - to try to make it happen.

When he'd finished the oranges, he sauntered over to the counter where Kash was sitting flipping through a magazine. The older man looked up cautiously as he approached.

"Hey, I don't think Linda's shown me around here," Ian said casually. "Is there a store room or something where you keep shit?"

"Yes," Kash said slowly. "I can't leave the store unattended to show you though."

Ian shrugged. "Okay," he said. "Can I go look through the window?"

Kash frowned. "Sure," he said.

Ian smiled. He turned away from the counter, walking towards the store room, when his toe caught on a display of Snickers bars. He shook some of them to the ground.

"Oh, shoot," he said, bending down to retrieve them. He felt a little silly pushing his ass as high into the air as he could, but when he peeked back at Kash's face he saw that his employer's eyes had bugged out of their head, so it couldn't look as ridiculous as it felt.

"A-actually... maybe I could show it to you," Kash stammered. He almost fell off his stool behind the counter, going over to the door and putting up the CLOSED sign. Ian saw him push the deadbolt through as well. He smirked to himself.

As Kash came towards him, Ian whirled around and smashed his mouth into the older man's. Kash didn't miss a beat, curling his arms around the younger boy and pulling him around the corner behind the fruit and veg display. They never made it to the store room.

Sex with Kash was different than sex with Roger. Kash unbuttoned his shirt slowly, caressing the tops of Ian's arms as he kissed his way down his chest. He unbuckled Ian's jeans, pulling them down fluidly with his boxers and sucking him into his mouth. Ian gasped as Kash licked down his cock, sucking sloppily and grabbing Ian's ass. Ian clenched. He was not going to be a bottom - not even for Kash.

But Kash seemed to understand that. After a couple more long sucks on Ian's cock, he took off his own pants, rolling them down and turning around without Ian having to say anything. He grabbed the edge of the nearest shelf, pushing his ass back invitingly into Ian's hands. Ian spat quickly onto his finger and pushed it into Kash's hole. The older man bucked and gasped; Ian added another finger. If his five weeks fucking Roger Spikey had taught him anything, it was how to be an amazing top. Ian took his fingers out again, pressing the tip of his dick against Kash's hole.

"Do it," Kash moaned. "Fuck me!"

And Ian obliged, thrusting deep into the older man, relishing the soft sounds that Kash was making. He pushed in and out in slow, restrained motions, running his hands up the length of Kash's body and squeezing gently on his hip bones. Ian closed his eyes, loving the sensation of their pelvises locking together over and over again, and then he couldn't help himself; he slammed his body into Kash with increasing force until his employer cried out.

"I'm coming," Ian muttered; he reached around Kash and grabbed his cock, jerking it up and down so that they came together, white ribbons of jizz splattering on the lino.

For the next few minutes the Kash and Grab was silent as the pair of them cleaned up the store; however, when the OPEN sign was once again hanging at the door Kash said apologetically: "I'n sorry, Ian. I shouldn't have done that."

"Trust me, I didn't mind," Ian said with a smile.

"Yeah but... I'm married, and you're still... you're still a kid, Ian."

The smile was wiped off Ian face. "I'm not a kid." The smile returned, as he peered seductively up at Kash through his thick orange fringe. "You know, age is just a number..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always wondered how Kash and Ian got together, what with the age gap and Kash being married, so that's what this chapter is. I wanted to make it a bit fluffy, because even though Kash isn't Mickey (obviously!) there was a time when Ian did really care about him, so... yeah. This is it.
> 
> (And I hope my smut isn't awful. I never know how good I am at writing it.)


	2. A Lot Can Happen In A Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year later, Ian is still working at the Kash and Grab and fucking his boss. Everything is going great until a certain Mandy Milkovich walks into the store...

"Hey, what happened to you?" Kash exclaimed as Ian pushed through the door of the store. He had cleaned up his nose as best as he could, but it was still bright red and swollen to at least twice the size, and he was still having to wipe trickles of blood off his face.

"Frank," Ian said bitterly. "He's lucky I didn't hit him back. I'll fucking kill him." His father, pissed off by some altercation at the bar, had come home with a bloody nose and decided to pass on the favour.

Kash's gaze flicked around the store; no one was there, so he came around the counter and put an arm across Ian's shoulders. "You okay?" he murmured.

"Sure," Ian said thickly. Kash didn't seem convinced; he kissed the top of Ian's head, his large hand stroking his ginger hair.

Ian had been working at the Kash and Grab for more than a year now, and even Linda was willing to admit that she made the right choice hiring him. He was a hard worker, efficient, good with the people that came into the store and very tidy. And, although obviously Linda didn't know about this one, he had the ability to make his boss spurt like a fucking volcano.

Sometimes, if he thought about it too long, Ian felt kind of bad about Linda. She may have been a hardass, but she wasn't a bad person. But it didn't take long for him to be distracted by Kash's tongue licking across his chest, or his ass pushing back into Ian's pelvis, or the feel of his hands wrapped around Ian's cock, and then he didn't feel quite so sorry for Linda any more. She might have a gay husband, but she got to sleep next to Kash every night, and fuck him whenever she felt like it. She didn't have to lock the doors and hide behind the fruit and veg display.

He had asked Kash about it once. "Isn't it weird? Being married and liking cock?"

"I love my kids," Kash had replied. "And around here... Liking cock can be dangerous."

Ian didn't need him to explain that one. He knew all too well how dangerous being gay could be in their neighbourhood. He said: "Maybe I should have a girlfriend. Keep anyone from getting suspicious."

"Maybe," Kash had agreed. And then, since Ian had been balls-deep in his ass while they were talking, he had bucked his hips and the conversation had been forgotten.

Now, however, Ian had thought about it a few times. Lip had already asked him why he wasn't banging anyone at school. He knew - without being a dick about it - that he was an attractive guy; people would start to wonder. He knew that there were a couple of girls in his class who giggled and blushed when he talked to them. But whenever he thought about asking them out, about kissing them, or even worse, about fucking them, something twisted in his gut. He couldn't do it.

Kash kissed his head again, and Ian leaned against the older man's chest. He loved the feeling of security being with Kash gave him; Kash was so supportive, so caring. And not to mention, so fucking hot.

Ian straightened up and shrugged Kash's arm off his shoulder. Placing his hands around his employer's face, he kissed him, relishing the taste of Kash's tongue intertwining with his. Kash always kissed the same way he fucked: slow, gentle, soft. Just occasionally, Ian kind of wished Kash would get a bit rougher with him. But then he remembered that what he liked about Kash was that he wasn't rough, wasn't the same as everyone else in their neighbourhood.

It was about two weeks later - after Frank had been lost, and then found in Canada - that Ian had cause to think about having a girlfriend again. He was up a ladder, stacking bags of flour on the top shelf, when he felt slim fingers pinch his butt.

"Hey, that's sexual harrass--" He stopped abruptly as he turned around to see that it was not, as anticipated, Kash - who was sitting behind the counter with a magazine and a pair of eyebrows raised so high they were disappearing into his hairline - but Mandy Milkovich.

Mandy was the kind of girl you didn't mess with. She had five incredibly tough, and pretty scary, older brothers, not to mention her dad, who was finishing up his third stretch inside that year. According to most of the guys in Ian's class - and a large proportion of the graffiti in the school bathrooms - she was ridiculously hot. Her dark hair was layered with yellow streaks, and the clothes she wore left very little to the imagination. Right now, for instance, Ian could see her thong peeking out from the top of her skirt.

"M-Mandy?" he stammered. She was looking up at him in a way that kind of reminded him of the way he had looked at Kash, that first day when he was trying to get him to fuck him.

"Hey Ian," she said confidently, tilting her head to one side. She had a pretty amazing smile - although Ian was pretty sure that wasn't what he was supposed to be noticing what with her tits practically hanging out of her top - and she was directing it full-force at him.

"Wha-what's going on?" he said, folding his arms and trying to look like it wasn't a massive shock to see her there. She swung a little on the ladder; Ian was momentarily distracted thinking about how hot Kash would look doing that. Not that he ever would. Kash wasn't exactly the pole-dancing type.

"I wanted to thank you for coming to my rescue in history class today," she said flirtatiously. Ian glanced up at Kash; his eyebrows were still raised, and he was watching the scene with interest. Ian gulped.

"Uh... No problem. Mr Bancroft's a prick," he said, relieved to hear that his voice was relatively steady. Mandy fixed her large, black-rimmed eyes on him.

"Well, I think you might be my knight in shining armour," she said. Ian laughed. He couldn't help it. Only Mandy Milkovich could say that kind of thing to a guy and get away with it.

Luckily Mandy didn't seem to mind him laughing, joining in as he descended the ladder. "Right," he said, moving past her to stack some of the other shelves. Away from her. Closer to Kash.

"You're funny, Ian Gallagher!" she said.

"Uh, okay," he replied, unable to resist sneaking a look back at Kash, who was resting his chin in his hands as though Ian were a particularly interesting TV show. Ian could literally not remember ever having felt so uncomfortable.

"Well, what time do you get off work?" Mandy asked, bounding over to stand next to him. Too close. Way too close.

"Uhhh..." Ian looked at Kash again as he struggled to find some excuse. "You know, I think it's inventory night so probably not 'til really late."

"Alright, " Mandy said, sounding disappointed. "Well, I guess I'll see you around school tomorrow then?"

"Yeah, right, see you tomorrow Mandy!" Ian said with a smile. Hoping she would get the hint and just leave. Which she did, but not until she had given him an incredibly sloppy kiss on the cheek, swiping her hands across his back as she sauntered past him.

As soon as the door had closed behind her Ian was rubbing the lipstick stain off his face. An old man had come into the store as Mandy had left with a final, "Bye Ian," so he couldn't do what he wanted to do, which was talk to Kash about what had happened. Instead he carried on straightening things on the shelf, praying for the store to close so that he could use Kash to fuck the sight of Mandy's legs right out of his brain.

Kash put the CLOSED sign out after an hour - fifteen minutes before they were supposed to close, but Linda was home with the boys and she'd never know. Ian was tugging on the front of Kash's shirt almost immediately, pulling it up over his head and crushing his mouth against his employer's. But Kash pulled back.

"So," he said, in the kind of voice that indicated they were about to have a conversation a lot less fun than what Ian had wanted to do. "Mandy, huh?"

"Nothing happened," Ian said quickly. "Our prick teacher had a boner looking at her in class, so I tripped him up. That's it."

Kash spread his hands wide. "Hey, I'm not accusing you," he said. "I wouldn't blame you if you wanted a girlfriend. That's all I was going to say."

"I don't think," Ian said firmly, "that she wants to be my girlfriend. And I'm not fucking her, I don't care how gay it looks."

Kash shrugged. "You might want to reconsider that," he said. "You don't want anyone getting suspicious of the two of us spending so much time together."

For the first time in over a year, Ian looked at Kash somewhat critically. The word 'coward' flitted through his mind as he looked at his boss. He pushed down the slightly irritated feeling. "Yeah, okay," he said. "I'll think about it. You getting down or what?"

It turned out that Kash was definitely getting down, and the next hour they didn't do a whole lot of talking.

Kash walked him out after, and Ian cast a quick eye around before pulling Kash's jacket collar down for a kiss. He strode away from the Kash and Grab without bothering to suppress the self-satisfied smirk on his face, strolling past the supply truck as he buttoned up his jacket.

A simple "Boo!" was enough to wipe the smirk from his lips in an instant.

"Mandy?" he said, panicked. She sat at the end of the truck, legs folded seductively underneath her. He looked around; thank God, Kash was nowhere in sight.

"You miss me?" she asked, pushing hair out of her face with the same self-satisfied smirk that Ian had been wearing a moment ago.

"Yes," he said. It wasn't like he could give any other answer, with her looking at him like that. "What are you doing here?"

She stared at him like he was an idiot, swinging down from the back of the truck. "Waiting to walk you home, silly!"

"Oh," he said. She didn't seem to need him to say anything else, linking arms with him and resting her head on his arm as they began walking away. Ian, feeling like he didn't have much of a choice anyway, decided to go with it.

It didn't take long to get back to the Gallaghers, and once there it was pretty clear Mandy expected to be invited in. "You got any beers in there?" she asked, idling at his gate.

"Uh... sure," he said. He bit his lip. "You... want to come in and have one?"

She bounded up the stairs before he'd even finished his sentence. "Sure," she said.

Ian had never been happier to see Carl sitting in front of some car show. Mandy settled herself on the sofa while he got the beers, and for a while it seemed like she was content just to sit beside him watching TV. Ian even relaxed a little.

That was until he became aware that Mandy wasn't watching TV at all. She wasn't even pretending to. She was watching Ian, almost speculatively, and as she met his gaze she moved decisively along the sofa to sit closer to him. He sprang up.

"Do you, um, want another beer?" he asked. She was looking up at him like he was crazy.

"Okay," she said. He practically ran out of the room as she said, "But don't be too long!"

He wasn't very long, but apparently it was long enough for Carl to decide to go to bed. "You're leaving?" he muttered to his younger brother.

"Yeah. Enjoy getting herpes," Carl replied viciously.

There was nothing for it. Ian went and sat back down on the sofa.

It took Mandy all of thirty seconds to leap on him, her small hands on his face as she attacked him with her lips. She swung her leg over him, straddling him as she kissed him. "Mandy!" was all he managed to get out before she had pushed her tongue into his mouth, one hand fisting in his hair.

"Mandy, maybe we should, uh..." She stopped his mouth with her fingers.

"Shh, it's okay," she said, reaching into her bra. "I have one," she explained, pulling out a condom. She slid down his body, her hands fumbling at his belt.

"Okay, Mandy, hang on!" Ian said. She looked up at him, frowning. Suddenly her eyes widened, as though a thought had occurred to her.

"Are you a virgin?" she whispered. He bit his lip, thinking about this question. Kash had practically told him to get a girlfriend to protect himself. And technically speaking, he was a virgin, in that his dick had never been inside a girl. He gave a stiff nod.

"Shit," Mandy said, swinging onto the sofa again. "I guess you want to take it slow, huh?" Another nod.

Mandy grinned, stowing the condom away again. She cuddled up to his side, leaning up for a long, slow kiss on his mouth.

And Ian, hating himself, let her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I don't know how good this chapter is, as there's a lot of retelling of scenes from Season 1 Episode 3. I just really like the idea of Mandy being Ian's girlfriend - so shoot me! I hope it works anyway and no one seems too OOC.


	3. My Girlfriend's Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having Mandy as a girlfriend might actually solve a lot of problems... Even if her family is batshit insane. Still, a harmless game of _Halo_ with her brother Mickey shouldn't be an issue, right?

"Ian!" Lip yelled. "Mandy Milkovich is here for you!"

Ian, who had been slumbering peacefully, shot out of bed. It had been two days since Mandy had tried to have sex with him; Fiona had walked in about two seconds later, and he'd almost begun to believe that Mandy might have lost interest. Apparently not. He struggled into a fresh shirt and jeans, clattering down the stairs to see Lip with a smirk on his face.

"You're banging her? Nice one," Lip muttered out of the corner of his mouth. Ian looked past him to see Mandy standing by the door with a smile on her face; she was wearing a black lacy top so tight he could actually see the contours of her ribs through it. He glanced back at Lip, who was ogling her with not an ounce of subtlety. He shoved his brother, and walked over to Mandy through Lip's barely muffled laughter.

"Hey, Ian," Mandy said. She almost seemed... shy?

"Hi Mandy," Ian said, too quickly. He hesitated. "Um... Want to go for a walk?"

"Sure," she said.

They didn't say much until they were under the railway bridge; Ian lit a cigarette while Mandy kicked aimlessly at the slush on the ground. She was frowning, like she wasn't sure what to say; Ian wasn't used to this more reticent version of her. She always seemed like the most confident girl in the world.

At last she said: "So... you're a virgin, huh?"

Ian felt himself flush; her tone indicated that she was pretty surprised. He wanted to tell her that no, he wasn't a virgin, he'd just never fucked a girl - but he couldn't tell her that. Of all the homophobic assholes in their neighbourhood, her dad was pretty much the king, and her brothers weren't much better. God knew how she'd react, but it surely wouldn't be pretty. So all he did was nod somewhat embarrassedly.

She seemed to mull this over for a few minutes. Then she said, "That's cool."

He laughed somewhat humourlessly. "No, it isn't."

"I'm serious!" she said. "Makes you different, anyway." Ian considered this. She appeared to mean what she said. She took a deep breath and then went on: "I've never had a boyfriend I didn't fuck."

"B-boyfriend?" Ian stammered.

She bit her lip nervously. "Well... Yeah. If you want." She shrugged, looking away from him. "It's cool if you don't. Like... maybe you think I'm ugly or something."

Ian felt a rush of pity for her. It was kind of sad that she thought she was only hot enough to fuck. Like she wasn't attractive if someone didn't want to sleep with her. He put a hand on her shoulder. "Mandy. You're beautiful," he said sincerely. "I just... I just don't want to have sex right now." It was almost the truth.

She looked up at him with a small smile. "So... I could still be your girlfriend?" she asked quietly. Now it was Ian's turn to bite his lip.

Kash had told him things would be easier if he had a girlfriend. Less suspicious. And here was a girl happy to be his girlfriend, and he wouldn't even have to fuck her. He could just hold her hand, and he guessed he could kiss her every now and then, and hang out with her. And that wouldn't be a hardship; he was starting to realise that he actually liked Mandy. Like they could be really great friends.

"Sure," he said with warmth. Mandy's smile turned into a full-watt grin, and she surged into his arms, pressing her mouth against his. Ian closed his eyes, picturing Kash's face as he kissed her back. His hands felt weird, hanging by his sides; he placed them awkwardly on Mandy's hips, and she wound her arms around his neck, cuddling into him.

Forty-five seconds of this was about all Ian could handle; disentangling himself from Mandy's tight embrace, he slid his hand into hers, interlocking their fingers. She grinned up at him. "You want to come back to mine? I've got _Halo_."

"Sure," he said. He smiled broadly. "I'll kick your ass."

"You wish," she replied. "Only one who can beat me is Mickey."

Ian figured this must be one of her brothers; he'd never really met any of the Milkovich boys. "Uh, hello? ROTC."

By this time they had reached the Milkovich house; Mandy clattered up the steps to the front door, with Ian following behind more slowly. He was more than a little nervous; the Milkoviches did not have a reputation for nothing. His girlfriend - would that ever not be weird to say? - tugged him into the house without a second thought.

The first thing Ian noticed when he walked through the door was the fucking massive gun thrown casually across the coffee table in the living room. The second thing he noticed was the line of knives sticking out of the wall above the TV. And the third thing he noticed was the broad, grubby, delicious chest of the shirtless boy kicking back on the sofa.

Ian actually stopped in his tracks, staring at the boy. He looked around seventeen, with paper-white skin and scruffy dark hair. He was covered in dirt, like he hadn't showered in weeks, and all he was wearing was a pair of old trackies. His eyes were a very light blue, framed with eyelashes so white they were almost invisible; as he watched the TV, he chewed almost unconsciously on his bottom lip. Ian had thought he would never meet anyone who turned him on as much as Kash did. Right now, the idea of getting hard for Kash seemed almost laughable.

Mandy turned around to see why he had stopped with a frown; when she saw where he was looking, she said with a shrug: "That's Mickey. Hey, Mickey! This is Ian."

"Yeah," Mickey said disinterestedly without turning away from the TV. Mandy just rolled her eyes, dragging Ian past him into the kitchen.

"Next brother up," she said by way of explanation. They stuck some pizza bagels in the microwave, Mandy chatting all the while about school and other shit that, in all honesty, Ian wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to; he was too busy flicking glances over at Mickey whenever he thought she wasn't looking. She didn't seem to notice or care that he wasn't listening; when the pizza bagels were done, she led him back into the living room.

"Shove over," she ordered Mickey; he glanced up at her, and his gaze fell on Ian. His bottom lip, which he had been methodically knawing, fell out of his mouth with a small pop.

"Who the fuck's this?" he demanded. Mandy rolled her eyes, pushing forcefully on her brother's bare shoulder; he allowed himself to be manhandled along the sofa so Mandy and Ian could sit down.

"I just said, dickhead," she answered. "This is Ian. My boyfriend." The pride in her voice was clearly distinguishable.

"Fuck," Mickey said. "Since when do you have a fucking boyfriend?"

"Since now, assface," Mandy replied. "You want to play _Halo_?"

Mickey shrugged. "Sure," he said. He got up, going over to fiddle with the Xbox.

Mandy said, with a hint of amusement in her voice: "Ian reckons he can kick my ass."

"Oh yeah?" Mickey said. He looked back over his shoulder at Ian. "Good luck, douchebag. You beat her, you still got me to deal with."

Ian couldn't help himself. He smiled, a full-on, 100-watt smile stretching right to his ears. "Bring it," he said.

At that moment, the front door banged open, and an enormous, beefy guy swaggered into the room. He was at least six foot tall, maybe a couple more inches over that, looked about twenty, with a slightly squashed looking face and a flat broad nose. He wore a green sleeveless shirt that revealed a horseshoe tattoo on his chunky upper arm.

"Oi, Mickey," he said gruffly. "You heard about Leo Riceman? Fucker's selling on our territory. We gotta go build him a new face."

Mickey jumped up. "Knife, gun or tire iron?" He grabbed a pair of dirty trainers lying underneath the coffee table, dragging them onto his feet.

"Knife," the other man said. "Warned him once already."

Ian took a last look at Mickey's beautiful chest as the boy pushed through a door with a pretty aggressive sign stuck to it; when Mickey returned, he was wearing a shirt and jacket, and twirling a pretty nasty-looking knife in one hand. Ian could see some tattoos on his knuckles, but Mickey was moving too fast for him to see what they were.

The huge guy was picking some of the knives out of the wall. Suddenly he turned around. "Who the fuck are you?" he said to Ian, sounding kind of suspicious.

Both Ian and Mandy opened their mouths to answer; before they could, however, Mickey's voice sounded behind them. "Mandy's boyfriend," he said.

"Huh," the big guy said. "Didn't know you had it in you to have a fucking _boyfriend_."

"Fuck off, Tony," Mandy said.

And they did fuck off, both Tony and Mickey, leaving Ian looking forlornly after them as an oblivious Mandy switched on the Xbox.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm hoping this chapter doesn't come across too OOC... Mickey is not easy to write realistically, especially since I don't have the incredible acting skills of the amazingly talented not to mention gorgeous Noel Fisher to help me! (Yes, I have a bit of a crush). I'm loving reading the comments, such a boost to keep writing! If there's anything anyone wants to see happen let me know, as I'm still figuring things out - my big question now is when Mickey and Ian are going to start up! Should it happen the same way it does in the show? Ahhh I'll get there in the end...


	4. Can't Put My Finger On It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mandy's nervous about being introduced to Ian's family. Ian knows there's nothing to worry about, at least around Lip... until his brother happens to look down the back of his chest of drawers.

"Ian! Door!" Debbie yelled. Ian was already clattering down the stairs, buttoning his shirt as he went. He'd invited Mandy round for dinner for the first time, and he wanted to make sure she was okay; she'd already confessed to him that she was nervous to properly meet his family. He kind of understood this; even though he'd spent practically every afternoon at her house for the last four weeks, she just didn't have the sort of family that sat around a table for a meal.

"Hey," she said shyly as he reached the front door. Debbie stayed where she was, looking interestedly at Mandy. She was wearing black skinny jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, which he knew was her effort to dress up even if the shirt did have the words  _FUCK THE POLICE_ printed on it. She'd straightened her hair and slathered her eyes with even more make-up than usual.

"Come in," Ian said. "This is Debs."

"Hi," Debbie said confidently, sticking out a hand. Mandy smiled as she shook it, stepping into the house.

Ian didn't find it difficult to smile and give Mandy a hug. Even the brief peck on the lips was manageable. That feeling that he'd had a month ago - that he and Mandy could be really great friends - had proved absolutely right. When she wasn't trying to impress anyone, Mandy was interesting and funny and pretty smart. They ate lunch together most days at school and then hung out after, going for walks by the railway tracks and pretending to do homework on her bedroom floor. They chatted and laughed and most of the time it was  _easy_ being around her; the only times it got tricky was when she wanted to do... well, couple things.

He held her hand pretty much all the time - in between classes, walking home from school, sauntering around the shops - so he was fairly used to that by now. Putting an arm around her was even easier - he figured that even if they were just friends he might do that affectionately. But it was when they were alone together - sitting at the lunch table, splayed out on their stomachs in her bedroom, sharing a joint under the railway bridge - that things got more complicated. Mandy seemed to love kissing him. It wasn't just the mouth either - she licked lines up his neck, sucking marks onto his chest with her tiny black-polished fingers gripping his upper arms. She kept everything above-waist, which was good, but sometimes she took her top off and that was less good.

Ian supposed that most of the guys in his year would be completely jealous. Mandy had a great body - flat stomach, perfectly perky if slightly small breasts, and narrow hipbones that she frequently pushed into Ian's unwilling hands. But all Ian ever wanted to do was get her to put her top back on. He usually ended up kissing her so he didn't have to look at her chest, and he never touched her tits. He stroked her back instead, or ran his fingers through her hair, until she got the message and got dressed again.

Of course, putting up with all that had its perks, and they weren't limited to the fun times he and Mandy had when she  _wasn't_ trying to take her clothes off. Hanging out at the Milkoviches so much meant frequent time spent with Mickey, and that was something Ian was willing to do a lot to get.

Mickey was the youngest of the Milkovich boys - seventeen - so he was the one most frequently at home. Sometimes he played Xbox with them, or watched TV, or even shared a pizza. Sometimes he threw his legs across Mandy's lap and passed a joint around. Sometimes he wasn't there, or was sleeping, and Ian spent the whole time discreetly peeking into his room in the hopes that he might emerge. By now it was almost automatic for Ian to check Mickey's location as he walked through the door; he knew it was pathetic, not to mention incredibly stupid, to have a crush on Mandy's thuggish brother, but he couldn't help himself. Mickey was just so... Something. Ian didn't even know what it was that attracted him so much.

On the face of it, Mickey was everything Ian didn't like about the Southside. He swore like a sailor, he was rude, brash, loud and completely unembarrassed about being so. Ian had practically never seen him without a beer in his hand; when he ate the food fell out of his open mouth. He never seemed to wash, so he was covered in a permanent layer of grime and dust. His fingernails were filthy and bitten down to the nubs, and Ian had now seen that the tattoos on his knuckles bore the unpleasant message FUCK U-UP.

Compare this to soft-spoken Kash, who was always neat and clean, and whose very voice seemed to indicate that he should have lived somewhere else, and it made no sense at all. After all, that was what he had always  _liked_ about Kash - the very fact that he spoke and behaved better than anyone else Ian knew was a massive turn-on. So what was it about Mickey?

Maybe it was the fact that underneath the crude language and complete lack of manners - "Get the fuck out of my way, Gallagher, I got places to be" - there was a wicked sense of humour, a teasing mischievousness that made Ian's whole body tingle. Maybe it was the way that even though Mickey pretty much never said anything about how he felt about shit, the expressions in his light blue eyes spoke volumes. Maybe it was the way that despite the fact that he and Mandy fought like cat and dog, twisting nipples and pulling hair, he obviously cared about her in his own strange way - "You hurt my sister, Gallagher, and I'll fuck you up". Maybe it was just the sparkle in his eyes when he looked at Ian, chewing on his bottom lip and rubbing his thumb over the knuckle of his index finger.

Whatever it was, it was fucking pathetic. Ian actually had to physically stop his eyes from following Mickey wherever he went. Had to force his voice to stay steady when he spoke to him. And one time, when he had beaten Mickey at _Halo_ and the other boy punched him in the arm, he actually had to go to the bathroom so no one would see his erection.

Which was why he'd suggested that Mandy come over for dinner. He needed to spend some time away from Mickey Milkovich. The way he reacted to him was just embarrassing.

"Hey, Fi," he said to his sister now as they walked into the kitchen. "This is Mandy."

Fiona gave Mandy a brief smile. "Hi," she said. She had Liam balanced on one hip, and the phone pressed to the other ear. "Jesus, Vee, what the fuck do I do? Steve reckons she needs therapy." She laughed at something Veronica said. "Yeah, that's what I told him. Listen, I gotta go."

She hung up the phone, looking properly at Mandy and Ian. "Sorry, guys," she said. "Christ, what a mess! Nice to meet you, Mandy. Dinner's in ten."

"What's going on?" Mandy asked Ian as they climbed the stairs up to his bedroom.

"Debbie stole a baby," he said, shrugging. 

"Huh," Mandy said. "Worst I ever did at that age was a watch."

"She aims high," Ian replied.

They walked into the boys' bedroom, sitting down on Ian's bed. Lip was lying up on his bed with a couple of books in front of him; he looked up as they entered.

"Hey, Mandy," he drawled, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

All traces of nervousness gone, Mandy said, "Hey, asswipe."

Lip laughed. "Want a smoke?"

She shrugged. "Sure," she said. He jumped down from his bed, moving over to the chest of drawers against the wall; as he fumbled for his lighter, it fell down the back of the drawers.

"Shit," Lip said. He got down on his hands and knees, scrabbling around for the lighter. As he did, a cardboard folder covered in pictures of tits fell down the back of the chest of drawers, and Ian's heart stopped.

"What's this?" Lip said playfully. "Porn in the bedroom, eh, Ian? Sure as hell ain't mine."

"Gross," Mandy said conversationally. Lip was engrossed in examining one of the more explicit pictures on the front of the folder.

"Maybe you guys should check this out," he said with a wink. "Something to get you in the mood."

"Give it here," Ian said. Shivers of fear were running down his spine. He stood up, holding his hand out for the folder. "Lip, give it to me."

"Ah, come on," Lip teased. "Just one little look won't hurt!"

Ian snatched the folder out of his brother's hands. "I said to give it the fuck to me!" he said angrily. He stormed out of the room, leaving a rather bewildered Lip behind him.

Heart pumping, Ian ran down the stairs and out the back so fast that Fiona barely had time to ask him where he was going. He knew Carl had a metal bin outside for burning shit, and he dumped the folder in after setting one corner alight. The fire wasn't getting going fast enough for his liking, so he cracked his lighter open under his heel and poured the lighter fluid into the flames. He didn't go back inside until every muscular man printed on the dirty magazines had crackled into ash.

Everyone was sat down for dinner by the time he came back in. Mandy gave him a questioning look, and Lip said: "You alright, man?"

"Yeah," Ian said. He was already feeling kind of guilty for his outburst. It had meant that Mandy was left on her own with his family, and he had promised not to do that. It looked like Lip had looked after her, though; she was sitting next to him, an empty chair on her other side. Ian slid into it.

"So, Mandy..." Fiona began. Whatever she had been going to say next was lost, however, as the back door crashed open.

"Where is the little shit?" came a loud, angry voice. "Where is the  _asshole_ who's been doing my husband?"

And Ian realised, as pinpricks of absolute terror began needling up and down his spine, that the person shouting was Linda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit shorter than the rest, because I'm supposed to be going out and because it felt like the right place to end it. Please carry on commenting - constructive criticism always appreciated! Hope no one seems OOC.


	5. Seeing You Clearly For The First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Linda's found out about Ian and Kash, and she's pissed...

For a second, there was absolute silence in the Gallagher kitchen, and this was so rare that Ian almost laughed. Almost.

He looked around the table. His siblings had all stopped eating, staring at the irate woman standing in their doorway. Mandy had instinctively clutched Ian's hand on the table top, which was both sweet and painful at the same time. But Linda didn't so much as glance at any of them. She only had eyes for Ian.

Her dark hair was tumbling out of her burka, strands sticking to the sides of her slightly sweaty face. Her nostrils were slightly inflamed in the way that Ian, in over a year of knowing her, had come to recognise as a symbol of the very highest level of wrath. 

"Okay, what's going on?" Fiona had obviously got sick of the silence. "It's Linda, right? From the store?"

Linda completely ignored her. Her gaze had fallen on Ian and Mandy's interlocked hands, and she suddenly spluttered with mirthless laughter.

"You little  _shit_ ," she spat. "I guess I should have known when he stopped wanting to fuck. Found a little teenager to get him off, huh? And what was in it for you? He buy you shit? Make you feel special, did he, the worthless  _jackass_?"

"Linda..." Ian began, and then stopped, biting his lip. What could he say?

"What the fuck is she talking about?" Mandy said in a high, angry voice. She turned to look at Linda. "You think I fucked your husband? You pathetic jealous bitch!"

Ian blinked in absolute shock. He guessed it made sense that Mandy would've got the wrong end of the stick; it made way more sense to imagine Linda was talking to her than to Ian. Linda, whose mind was obviously running along the same lines as his, laughed again. It wasn't a nice laugh.

Ian's heart was thumping so loudly he was amazed no one else seemed to be able to hear it.  _This is it_ , he thought. This was the moment: he was about to be outed to his entire family and his girlfriend. He couldn't even imagine how betrayed Mandy would feel. She'd set her brothers on him, and his beautiful Mickey Milkovich would beat his face in with a tire iron.

Linda, breathing heavily, said: "He talks in his sleep, you know. Not that you  _would_ fucking know that. I bet you've never slept next to him in your life, huh? Because that's  _my_ job. His fucking  _wife_!" Her eyes were a little damp, but she ignored this, continuing: "I know you fuck him behind the shelves in the store. I know  _exactly_ how hard he likes it, because he didn't exactly hold back when he was describing it. He didn't even try to deny it when he woke up."

Ian's eyes dropped to the table. He felt kind of guilty, hearing her describe the dreams Kash was having about him. It had been a while since they'd had sex; maybe Kash wouldn't be dreaming about it if they were doing it more in real life. He'd just been too busy hanging out with Mandy and fantasising about her brother. 

Mandy, still not getting it, said belligerently, "Are you fucking kidding me? You're screaming at me because your pervert husband had some dirty dream about me?" She snorted. "Who would want to touch that towelhead fucker?"

Ian looked up again, and his gaze met Linda's. Her expression was calculating, vicious; she was about to correct Mandy's wrong impression. He just knew it.

"I don't get it," Debbie said suddenly. "Mandy's going out with Ian, why would she be having sex with Kash?"

And just like that, Linda's expression changed in front of Ian's eyes. Maybe she was taking in the fact that his entire family was sitting listening to every word she was saying. Maybe she was remembering exactly which family Mandy Milkovich belonged to. Maybe she saw the utter desperation in Ian's eyes.

She said, and her voice was suddenly completely flat and devoid of emotion: "I see you in my store again, Mandy Milkovich, and it'll be a while before you're eating solid food again. You hear me?"

"Psycho," Mandy said. Linda, ignoring this, swept around and out of the door, closing it behind her.

Just as she was almost out of sight, she said in a high, carrying voice: "See you at work tomorrow, Ian."

Ian couldn't trust himself to respond. He felt sick, his palm clammy in Mandy's hand.

"Ian? You okay, man?" Lip asked.

"Shit, Ian, I swear it's not true!" Mandy said quickly. Ian almost laughed at the irony of her worrying that he might think she had cheated on him with Kash. "I don't know what that psychotic bitch was saying, I wouldn't go near that prick."

"Course you wouldn't," Ian choked out; it was convincing enough for Mandy to give him a relieved smile, and after a brief, awkward pause conversation resumed at the table. Ian put his knife and fork down. He didn't think he could eat another bite.

*

Ian woke up the next morning seriously wondering if he'd still be alive by the end of the day. It was a Saturday, which meant he was due at the Kash and Grab at nine. He knew Linda would be waiting. She might not have been cruel enough to out him in front of his entire family, but that didn't mean she wouldn't cut his balls off once they were alone.

A soft snuffle beside him reminded him that Mandy had stayed the night. She'd cuddled into him all night, head resting on his bare chest with her dark hair spread out in a way that he might have considered cute had she not, in the middle of the night, slid a hand down to cup his cock over his boxers. She didn't do anything with it - didn't even try to jerk him off - just fell back to sleep with her hand resting there almost casually. Ian, of course, spent the whole night awake and tense.

"Mandy," he muttered, "I have to go to work."

"Fuck off," she murmured sleepily, but she dragged herself out of bed anyway. She perched on the edge of his bed while he got dressed; she was wearing a pair of his boxers with one of Lip's t-shirts. Lip had commented how cute she looked in them, and Ian had half-heartedly agreed. Mandy had fucking  _dimpled_ when he said it, like hearing a compliment from him had made her fucking day. He didn't know if that was sweet or sad.

Ian's feet dragged on the way in to work. Mandy had offered to walk him, but it was in the opposite direction to her house, and he knew she just wanted to get home and go back to bed. Also, he could seriously do without having her around when Linda got going.

The store was spookily quiet as Ian walked in. Kash and Linda were standing by the freezers, but neither of them were talking. As Ian entered, Linda marched forwards in a flurry. Before he even knew what was happening, she punched him in the eye. He bent over, clutching his face.

"That's for screwing my husband!" she shouted.

She turned away from him, facing Kash; Ian saw that his employer was sporting a pretty impressive black eye himself. 

Kash said: "What are you going to tell the kids?"

"I'm not," Linda said, her voice cold. Kash's eyes closed in momentary relief.

"What about my mom?"

"You bastard! What about  _me_?" Linda cried. Ian, despite the pain in his eye, thought she had a point.

Kash didn't reply, looking at the floor, the counter, the door - anywhere but at Linda. Ian remembered that a few weeks ago the word 'coward' had popped into his head when he was looking at Kash. He had never felt his lover's cowardice more strongly than he did today.

At last Kash said, "Do you want me to go?"

Linda seemed to hesitate, like she wasn't sure how to answer this. "Where's that leave me?" she asked brokenly. "Starting over? I'm a white Muslim!" Ian couldn't see her face, but he could hear her taking a couple of deep breaths. "I want another baby."

This was so unexpected that Ian could only blink. Kash obviously felt the same way. "What?" he said.

"I get what I want, and you can have what you want," Linda said with icy calm. Kash's eyes flickered over to Ian. She went on: "Behind closed doors, I don't want to be the laughing stock of the mosque. But no touching the forbidden fruit until I'm knocked up." She folded her arms; Kash looked away from Ian and back to her. "We clear?" she finished.

Kash nodded quickly, looking at the ground; Linda walked past him, towards the back of the store.

Ian felt like it was his turn to say something; Linda couldn't have made him come in just to hit him. "I'm sorry," he said in a low voice, turning to leave.

She looked back over her shoulder at him. "You're not fired," she said. Ian stopped in his tracks, turning back to stare at her. "My opinion? You could do better."

Ian gaped as she walked away; just before she left, he said: "Linda?" She turned back to him, arms still folded. He bit his lip. "Um... why did you cover for me? Yesterday?"

Something in her gaze softened, just slightly. "You don't know how far in over your head you are, kid," she said. "My advice? Stop lying."

And then she did walk away, leaving Ian and Kash alone.

"Ian, I'm sorry," Kash blurted as soon as she was out of earshot. "She... she heard me. Having a dream about you." He was blushing; kind of embarrassing to have to admit to having a sex dream about your fifteen-year-old employee, Ian guessed, even if you were fucking him.

"So what? You told her?" Ian said bitingly. Now that the immediate threat of Linda had dissipated, he realised he was pissed. Like, extremely pissed.

"Couldn't keep lying to her," Kash said, and then with a gasp he began to cry. Ian's face twisted in disgust. He'd never seen anyone so pathetic.

"And me? She nearly outed me. In front of my whole family! And the girlfriend  _you_ told me to get," he snapped.

"Look, I'm sorry," Kash snivelled. "I didn't know she was going to do that."

"Didn't think too much about it, huh," Ian said. He knew he was twisting the knife, but for some reason he was absolutely furious. Probably a combination of guilt for what he'd done to Linda - who was clearly way too much of a good person to deserve it - and the realisation that she was right. He could do better. Easily.

Kash wiped his eyes. "Look on the bright side, Ian," he said pleadingly. "Once I knock her up, we don't have to worry any more. We'll be free."

Ian stared at him. Did he really think Ian would want to fuck him now? He said: "You might be. I've still got a girlfriend."

"So break up with her," Kash said confidently. Like it was obvious.

"She's a Milkovich, man," Ian said. "You know what happens when you mess around with Milkoviches?"

"We'll work it out." The pleading tone was back. "Come on, Ian. I love you."

It was the first time Kash had ever said that to him. A few times, over the past year, Ian had wondered exactly how strongly the older man felt about him; he hadn't thought about it too much, because he wasn't completely sure how strongly he felt himself. Now that his employer was actually saying the words, though, he realised that he was absolutely, 100% clear.

"Whatever," he said flatly. "We have to work."

And he walked past Kash into the store room, leaving him looking after him with tears still in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this isn't completely canon - the timing's out of whack, and the way Linda finds out is different. But the way I see it in my head is that Ian's been spending so much time fantasising about Mickey that he's kind of been neglecting Kash, which is why he had the sex dream that Linda overheard. I'm working super hard to keep everyone in character, so I hope that's working! 
> 
> And don't worry, not long til Gallavich ;)


	6. Don't Know What To Do With Myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been three weeks since Linda found out about Ian and Kash, and Ian is starting to realise just how sick he is of lies.

"Better late than never," Kash said as Ian walked into the store in full ROTC uniform. Ian flushed and looked away; Kash's eyes flicked to Linda standing behind the counter and he looked down.

Linda, apparently choosing to ignore this, said: "Even better on time. What's with the costume?"

Ian, making sure to look only at her, replied, "ROTC. I made Cadet Lieutenant Colonel today."

"You did? That's great!" Kash said warmly. Linda looked at him sharply.

"Congratulations," she said to Ian in a tone that said the opposite. She pushed away from the counter. "When I get back I want the new stock shelved with all the labels facing the same direction."

"Where are you going?" Kash asked. She glared at him.

"Your head is like a funnel. The Boy Scout trip is this weekend."

Ian frowned. "They have Muslim Boy Scouts?"

"It's similar, the motto is still 'Be Prepared' but you learn how to work with chemicals instead of tying knots," Kash said with a smirk. He seemed almost determined to get Ian's attention; Ian, who was equally determined not to give it to him, looked away and didn't so much as chuckle.

Linda gave him a grim smile. "The group is sponsored by the Baptist church; they give us free outfits and overnights and we let them think we're assimilating. Everybody wins." She was by the door by now, in almost exactly the same spot where she had punched him three weeks ago. He could almost imagine it hadn't happened. Almost. "I'll be back Sunday night," she said with a hard look at Kash. "You remember the rules." With that, she swept out of the store.

Ian instantly moved to stand behind the counter, peeling off his army jacket and cap. Kash moved hesitantly forwards, putting his hands on the edge of the counter. He said with a smile: "Lieutenant Colonel? I'm so proud of you."

Ian turned around and busied himself straightening the tobacco display.

This was how it had been for the last three weeks. Kash had tried - desperately - to pretend like nothing had happened; he was still gentle and affectionate, touching Ian's arm or brushing suggestively against his ass the way he always used to when Linda was in the store and they had to act natural. And Ian had totally shut him down, ignoring every attempt to go back to the way they had been before.

He heard his employer's voice again behind him. "Linda and the boys are gone for two nights," Kash was saying hopefully. "We could have a whole night together to celebrate."

Ian ignored him.

Kash sighed. "Ian. Please. Talk to me. Come over tonight."

"Isn't that against the rules?" The words were out of Ian's mouth before he could stop himself. He turned around to face Kash.

"We don't have to fool around," Kash said pleadingly. "We could just talk."

"Talk about what?"

"I know you're pissed off," his employer said. "We haven't had the chance to talk about it."

Ian turned back to the tobacco display. "Can't. I'm seeing Mandy tonight."

"Tomorrow then."

Ian sighed. "I'll think about it."

"Okay," Kash said quickly. "That's all I ask. I'll wait for you."

*

It had been a pretty exhausting day for Ian. He had worked the rest of the morning at the Kash and Grab, and spent the afternoon blackmailing the pervert vicar into holding Kev and Vee's fake wedding. Kash hadn't tried to talk to him for the rest of his shift, but that hadn't made it any less uncomfortable being around him. It was a relief to sink into Mandy's sofa and watch a movie together, even if it was some shitty Adam Sandler comedy.

"You okay?" Mandy asked. She was snuggled into his chest, his cheek resting on the top of her head. It was a weirdly comfortable position to be in; Ian was struck by the fact that he had never cuddled Kash on a sofa in more than a year of fucking him.

"Yeah," he said absently. Satisfied, she settled back into the movie, holding his hand.

It was so  _easy_ being around Mandy. She took what he said at face value - if he said he was okay, she would believe him. Because she trusted him. She cared about him. He could relax around her. She was his best friend, except for maybe Lip; he could talk to her about almost anything, and he knew she would be there for him. Which made lying to her even more shitty. He thought about what Linda had said to him about being in over his head; maybe she had had a point.

It was easy to hold Mandy's hand, to stroke her hair as she laid her head against his chest. It was easy to press a kiss to her forehead. It was easy to lean down as she tilted her head back and kiss her mouth, easy to let his tongue slide between her lips, to cradle her face as he kissed her. It was easy to run his hands down her sides - carefully avoiding her breasts - and squeeze her body into his. It would be so easy to let it carry on; to slip his hands underneath her top, to push her back onto the sofa, to ease off his jeans and... do whatever it was guys did when they fucked girls. It wouldn't matter that he didn't know what to do. She thought he was a virgin anyway.

But he couldn't do it. It was one of the reasons he despised Kash so much now; he carried on fucking his wife when even _she_ knew he didn't want to. He wasn't going to be that guy.

"Ian?" With a start, he realised that he was staring into space; he snapped back to reality, looking at Mandy.

"Sorry. Zoned out for a second there."

"You sure you're okay?" she asked, concerned. He sighed. 

"Things are... weird at work," he said. Her eyes instantly narrowed, as he'd known they would.

"That bitch," she said, her voice hard as nails. "You want me to send Mickey in?"

"No!" Ian practically shouted. The idea of Mickey going to the Kash and Grab... of Kash seeing him... he didn't even know why it would be awful. Like maybe Kash would see the aura of Ian's crush radiating around Mickey. "Not worth it," he said more calmly. "It's fine." He looked around, trying to make it seem casual. "Where is Mickey, anyway?"

She shrugged, losing interest. "Iggy and Tony took him out," she said, "so I'm guessing they're either passed out drunk somewhere or fucking someone."

"Oh," Ian said lamely. He returned his attention back to the TV.

"Hey, you busy tomorrow night? Some of my friends are having a party," she said.

"Might be working," Ian said automatically, the way he always did when he and Kash had plans. Mandy sighed in a disappointed kind of way and turned back to the movie. Ian bit his lip, lost in thought.

Of course, he and Kash didn't actually have plans this time; Kash wanted him to come over, but Ian hadn't planned on actually going. And yet... he was torn. Yes, Kash was a coward, and pathetic, and totally spineless... but he had been the closest thing Ian had ever had to a boyfriend for more than a year, and it felt weird to have that end without so much as a word. Whenever he looked at Kash, it was like he was seeing two people: the weak black-eyed pussy standing in front of Linda with his eyes on the floor, and the sexy broad-chested man with a massive erection standing next to Ian on his first day of work. Like being with Linda made him weak, and being with Ian made him strong. Which would actually make a lot of sense.

And then, of course, there was Mickey. Ian wasn't stupid enough to think that his obsession was Mandy's brother was anything other than a deluded crush; a crush, moreover, that could get him killed if anyone in the Milkovich family found out about it. It might be good to return his focus to Kash; to try and figure out what was going on with the guy who said he loved him rather than mooning over the one whose most affectionate words to date had been related to Ian's  _Halo_ skills.

But thinking about Mickey made Ian remember how he looked shirtless, and he wondered if he'd even be able to get hard around Kash with that image in his mind.

A loud crash interrupted Ian's thought process; the front door had banged open, and four people, all talking and laughing, stumbled into the room. One of them - Ian's heart was already racing - was Mickey.

"Fucking asshole," he was saying, punching Iggy, another one of Mandy's brothers, on the shoulder. Iggy, who was the smallest and scrawniest of the Milkoviches, sniggered.

"Hey, douchebags," Mandy said in a friendly kind of way. Tony, eyes glazed over, burped and plopped down on the sofa next to her.

"What's this shit you're watching?" Mickey said aggressively. He grabbed the remote control, switching the channels until he settled on some old action film. "This Gallagher's shitty taste?"

"Fuck off," Ian said good-humouredly. Of course he was good-humoured. It was Mickey.

"You're seriously gonna watch TV right now?" The fourth new entrant into the room was the only one who hadn't sat down; Ian looked over to see a skinny red-headed girl with a shitload of freckles standing with her hands on her hips by the door.

"You got a fucking problem?" Mickey asked belligerently.

She raised an eyebrow. "Just thought you and me might have other things to do," she said flirtatiously. Ian actually had to bite down on his tongue to keep his furious expression from showing.

Obviously he didn't do a very good job of it, though, because Mandy caught sight of his face and said, frowning: "You alright, Ian?"

"Yeah," Ian said quickly. Mickey cast him a sidelong glance. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, and then shut it again. Then, squaring his shoulders, he got up. Ian could only watch as he walked over to the girl and slung an arm across her shoulders, guiding her to his room. He looked back for a second, meeting Ian's eyes, and then looked away, closing his bedroom door behind him.

Ian felt betrayed. He knew it was stupid, knew he was literally the last person on the planet to have any kind of claim on Mickey Milkovich's love life, but he did. He felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. He couldn't even pretend to concentrate on the conversation Mandy was now having with Iggy and Tony, asking them about their night - his ears were pricked up, concentrating on the slightest sound coming from Mickey's room.

"So where did Mickey pick up the skank?" Mandy was saying when Ian zoned back in, finally accepting that he couldn't hear whatever was going on between Mickey and the girl.

Iggy shrugged. "Alibi," he said. "Whole group of 'em, could've taken them all for a gangbang if he wanted." He snickered unpleasantly. "He went straight for the ginger one, though."

"Biggest tits," Tony grunted.

And that's when Ian heard it. They all heard it: the moan of a woman, coming from Mickey's room. Then another, and another, and then the skank was yelling, "Fuck, yes, give it to me!" and Mickey obviously did give it to her because she screamed - ridiculously loudly - and then there was silence.

"Holy shit," Iggy said.

"I gotta go," Ian said, standing up abruptly.

Mandy stared at him. "I thought you were staying," she said.

"Forgot something for the wedding," Ian lied.

"Want me to come with?" she asked.

He managed to smile. "Nah, it's cool. I'll see you tomorrow."

"'Kay," she said, her attention already back on the TV. Iggy and Tony didn't even glance at him as he made his way across the living room, stopping by the door to put on his jacket and wind his scarf around his neck.

At that moment, Mickey's bedroom door opened, and he stepped outside wearing his old sweatpants and nothing else. Despite the fact that he had just heard him having sex - with a girl - Ian's breath still hitched at the sight of Mickey bare-chested. Mickey cast a glance at him. "You going somewhere, Gallagher?"

"Yeah," Ian choked out. "See ya."

"Whatever," Mickey said, turning away from him. Ian practically ran out the front door, slamming it behind him.

The wind was blowing hard outside, and it was bitterly cold. Ian couldn't believe just how upset he was. Why the hell shouldn't Mickey fuck some bitch he found at a bar? It was pathetic how possessive he felt. Almost as pathetic as Kash. Ian smiled grimly to himself.

Twenty minutes later, he was hammering with his fist on a wooden front door. He didn't know if he was doing the right thing, if he had come to the right place; all he knew was that he needed not to think about Mickey Milkovich for a while.

Footsteps sounded on the other side of the door, and then it swung open.

"Ian?" Kash said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knoooow I said that Gallavich would be happening soon... but this kind of wrote itself! Don't worry, I do know when it's going to be now and it's not tooooo far away.
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you for the comments and kudos! I know I'm a bit of an attention whore but you have no idea how much it makes me want to carry on writing :D


	7. Choosing To Be Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian has gone to Kash for comfort, but is that the right place to get it?

"You came!" The pleasure in Kash's voice was slightly sickening. "Come in, come in!"

"So, uh, this is your place, huh?" Ian said awkwardly as he stepped into a small living room. He looked around; the room was dimly lit, with yellow walls and furniture that all seemed to be covered with coloured rugs and throws. The smell of goats pervaded the entire room, and Ian's nose instinctively wrinkled.

"This is it," Kash said, sounding pleased with himself. "You want something to drink?"

"I'm cool," Ian said.

"Okay," Kash replied. "So I know we have a lot to talk about..."

Whatever he had been going to say was lost as Ian reached up and smashed his mouth into Kash's. He was reminded forcefully of the first time he had kissed his employer; this kiss had the same need, the same desperation, behind it. The only difference was that this time he was needy and desperate for someone else.

It took about half a second for Kash to kiss him back. He cradled his hands around Ian's face, pressing small kisses on his lips and face. Ian gripped Kash's upper arms, impatiently sucking the older man's tongue into his mouth. He was in no mood for Kash to be gentle tonight. He pushed his employer backwards into the wall, crushing their bodies together, squeezing Kash's arms so tightly that he gasped in pain.

Kash broke away, panting. "You want to move to the bedroom?" he asked. Ian nodded, trying to hide his impatience; who  _asks_ that? Just fucking do it!

Kash led him down a short corridor and opened a door at the end of it; Ian followed him through into the bedroom. "Ta-dah!" Kash said.

Ian blinked as he looked around the room. There were hangings on the wall, a purple throw arranged artistically across the headboard, and a picture of some symbols positioned above the bed. The room was fussy, all drapes and tassels; even the chest of drawers had gold trim. The smell of goats was even stronger in here, though Ian couldn't imagine why that would be. All he could say was a lame, "Oh."

His eyes came to rest on a photo of Kash's sons sitting on one of the bedside tables. "Oh," he said again. "Wow, yeah. This is your house, where you live with Linda and the kids." 

While he was speaking, Kash was removing Ian's shirt and his own jumper, so they were both left in t-shirts. He didn't seem to register the flat tone of Ian's voice; he replied: "Now it's our house! She won't find out, I promise."

Ian tossed his shirt aside, moving around the bottom of the bed as he pulled off his t-shirt. Kash followed him, a smile stretching his face. Ian was still looking around, taking in the tapestry on the wall and the assortment of knick-knacks on top of the dresser.

He pitched forwards, falling on the bed on his stomach. Chin resting in his hands, he gazed up at the picture above the bed as Kash moved to sit above him, hands on his bare shoulders. Ian had to bite his lip in frustration. He didn't  _want_ a fucking massage - he wanted fucking, hard breathless passionate fucking that would leave no room in his brain for anything - or anyone - else. But that wasn't Kash's style.

As Kash's fingers rubbed into Ian's shoulder blades, he glanced to one side and saw a mannequin head bearing one of Linda's burkas. The thought of Linda was almost more than Ian could bear; he heard her voice in his head, telling him to stop lying.

Panicked, he turned the other way, only to be faced with the photograph he had noticed before, of two surly boys in Boy Scout uniform. It was positioned on a bedside table covered, for no obvious reason, by a striped rug. Scattered beside it was an assortment of pill bottles and creams. He spotted the word 'antacid' on a bottle next to some heartburn medicine; his eyes widened in alarm as he thought about reasons why Linda might have heartburn. He thought about Kash fucking Linda in this bed, trying to knock her up, trying to pretend that she was what he wanted. He thought about the tremble in Linda's voice as she told him the rules. Rules that Ian was now breaking.

With a gasp, he pushed himself up until he was standing at the foot of the bed. Kash fell away from him, surprise in his voice as he said: "What's wrong?" 

Ian was panting slightly. He said, "Sorry, it's just... too weird." He began gathering up his clothes from the floor.

"What is?" Kash asked, obviously utterly bewildered.

"All of your shit, it's just, uh..." Ian moved towards the door, his eyes still on the picture of Kash's kids. "It's freaking me out." He reached the door, pulling it open; Kash was still sitting on the bed as he turned around and said, "It smells like goats in here!"

"Ian, wait!" Kash cried, but it was too late; Ian tugged the door shut with a bang, leaving his employer behind as he pulled his shirt on and practically ran out the front door.

He didn't want to go home. That much was obvious. He didn't even know where he was headed until he found himself outside the Alibi; booming music was coming from inside, and Ian sighed in relief. People, and booze, and maybe some drugs - perfect. He opened the door and slipped inside.

It was absolute pandemonium in the bar. Ian stared; he had completely forgotten that it was Kev's bachelor party tonight. It seemed like everyone was wearing enormous black wigs - except for Kev whose wig was purple - and a whole bunch of strippers were wandering around giggling and pressing their tits against people. As Ian stepped into the room, Frank spotted him.

"Ian, son!" he exclaimed. "Come on, come on... that's my son," he told a red-haired girl in a pink bra. "Go show him a good time, huh? Keep up the good old American tradition!"

The girl giggled, sashaying over to Ian with a smile on her face. Another girl, a brunette in a leopard-print bra, jammed a wig on his head, clasping his shoulder.

And Ian, because he was confused and angry and hurt and didn't know how else to deal with it, went with it. He grabbed a shot from a nearby table, downing it in one gulp, and began to dance, thrusting his hips against the brunette girl and sliding his hand down to the ass of the red-headed one.

"Aaaaaaay!" Lip cried drunkenly, witnessing this. "Not always such a good boy, huh, Ian?" 

 _Not even close_ , Ian thought, picking up a beer from somewhere and gulping it down. The red-headed girl was twirling him around; the brunette had her back pressed against his, sliding down towards the floor. Ian closed his eyes. He could pretend to be someone who enjoyed this. He  _could_.

Half an hour later, and Ian was fucked. He had drunk a ridiculous amount; his head was spinning, and he was pretty sure he'd thrown up in the bathroom at some point. He couldn't really remember. And he was having a good time; a genuine good time, without faking it. He loved to dance, though he didn't get the chance much. He was drunk enough not to care what he looked like as he bounced around the room, girls giggling and falling against him, arms winding around his neck to  _dance_ , not to kiss. Lip's arm slung around his shoulders as they jumped around together. Frank grabbing him around the waist and trying to lift him up, but ending up collapsing onto a table in a fit of laughter. Kev lining up shots and downing them one after another before falling asleep along the top of the bar while Frank drew cocks on his face in permanent marker. Ian had the vaguest memory of Lip practically carrying him home with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth that Ian kept trying to steal. The stairs were too difficult, so the boys collapsed onto the sofa, falling asleep in a drunken heap until Lip rolled Ian off onto the floor, propping a cushion under his head. There was giggling, quickly hushed, which he thought might have been Fiona and Vee coming in from Vee's bachelorette party, but by then he was too far gone to even raise his head to look. The room was spinning, thoughts swirling around his head like liquid, thoughts of Kash and Mickey and Mandy and Linda, and then finally, mercifully, it all stopped, and everything went black.

*

The sun was high in the sky and shining through the bedroom window when Ian woke up. Someone must have dragged him up the stairs - probably Lip. He forced himself out of bed, stumbling downstairs in search of some coffee; his head was pounding, and he felt like shit. 

The house was empty; obviously he had had the worst hangover of anyone. There was a half-drunk glass of water on the kitchen table, and Ian grabbed it, downing it in one gulp. The buzzing in his head lessened just slightly.

"Ian?" He whirled around; Mandy was standing by the back door.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," she replied. "You okay? You disappeared pretty quickly last night."

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said. "I just forgot I told Kev I'd stop by his bachelor party."

"Okay," she said agreeably.

"You okay? What are you doing here?" he asked. She stared at him.

"You told me to meet you here at three," she said, frowning. His eyes widened.

"It's three already? Shit!" He took the stairs two at a time, leaving Mandy bewildered behind him.

Ten minutes later he was back downstairs, having showered and changed in record time and scrubbed his mouth so hard with a toothbrush that his teeth were tingling. "Sorry," he told her. "Let's go."

An hour later, he was holding Liam in his arms while the vicar finished up the ceremony. He and Mandy had managed to get there just in time, although Fiona had given his already-sore head a smack for cutting it so close. Kev and Vee grinned at each other, obviously hardly even hearing the words the vicar was saying; Ian felt a lurch as he wondered how it would feel to be so stupidly in love. To have your friends and family around you as you told someone else how much you loved them. He shrugged the thoughts away. This wasn't a time for thinking about himself.

"You may kiss the bride!" the pervert vicar said, and Kev, like he'd been waiting all day for this moment, surged forwards to encircle Vee with his arms. kissing her so passionately she rocked backwards against him.

After that it was time for the party part of the wedding. And it was while he was dancing with Mandy - who, it transpired, was a fantastic dancer - that Ian made a decision. He decided that he was going to be happy. He was not going to let these confused thoughts about Mickey and Kash get him down any more. He had Mandy, who may have been a girl but who was fun and interesting and who liked him enough to dance with him and not try to fuck him. He had Lip, who may not have known his biggest secret but who was his best friend, who had his back no matter what, who pulled his tongue out of Karen's mouth long enough to ask how his head was feeling. He had Fiona, who made sure he drank water in between every beer because she'd noticed him clutching his aching head. He didn't need cowardly Kash, and he definitely didn't need Mickey the homophobe.

He was happy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how happy I am with this chapter - it's a little bit of a filler to be honest, but kind of needed to happen as well! Next chapter later today, lots more drama in that one I promise!


	8. I Swear I Want To Tell You The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian thinks things are going great, but Mandy isn't so sure...

"You're short again," Linda said accusingly. She was standing across from the counter holding a clipboard; Kash, who had been on the point of sitting down, looked up anxiously.

"What?" he said.

"Inventory," she said in a horribly sarcastic tone. "Gone, out the door without being paid for? Soup, beer, chips, cigarettes, lollipops, salt! People are stealing salt, Kash. What the hell?"

Ian, stacking shelves at the back of the store, kept his head down. He still found it strange being around Linda, but she treated him exactly the same as she had before she'd found out about him and Kash. It was especially awkward now, however, because their kids were standing next to her; being around them was weird in all kinds of ways. It had been a week since Kev and Vee's wedding, a week since Ian made the decision to be happy, and so far he'd done pretty well. He basically didn't speak to Kash any more. They hadn't had a conversation since Ian had left his place, and this time Kash hadn't tried to initiate one. If Linda noticed the sudden distance between them, she didn't comment on it. Ian still saw Mandy nearly every day, but although he felt a thrill of nervousness every time he entered her house, he hadn't seen Mickey once since the night he'd banged that chick.

"Kids, why don't you go down the back and get yourself some juice?" Kash was saying. 

Linda was having none of it. "Boys, stay right where you are," she said, wagging a finger in their faces. They didn't move. She went on, crouching down to their level: "You need to hear this. Other than genetic markers for heart disease and bad teeth, this dump is the sum total of what we're leaving you." She stood up again, facing Kash with a decided glare. "The shoplifting is out of hand. $320 in one week! This is not a food bank! What are you doing when all this thievery is taking place? You playing Brick Breaker on your phone?" She turned to look over her shoulder, flashing a death stare at Ian, before looking back at her husband. "That better be all it is," she said warningly. "Do I need to get the security cameras fixed? Because that's a $2500 bill we can't afford!"

Kash said nothing, looking down at the cash register. Ian, feeling like he needed to defend himself, stepped around the shelves. "Nothing's going on," he said. "Maybe we can do something. To stop the shoplifting."

Linda looked at him appraisingly. "Like what? What we really need is someone on security, and no offence, Ian, but you're not that scary."

"None taken," Ian said, amused. "You want to hire someone else?"

She sighed. "Let me know if you can think of anyone who'd be interested," she said. She turned back to Kash. "Do me a favour while I take the kids to school. Grow a pair."

She slammed the clipboard onto the counter, shepherding the kids out in front of her and leaving Ian alone with Kash. He instantly turned back to the shelves, cheeks burning. Kash didn't bother trying to talk to him.

*

Mandy met him after work, as she'd taken to doing now that he wasn't pretending to work late any more. They walked straight to her place; Ian was cold, and he kept his hand firmly locked in hers as they hurried over to the Milkoviches. She beamed at him, resting her bobble-hat-covered head briefly on his shoulder.

They didn't really talk until they were sitting on the sofa in the living room; Mandy made coffee and poured a slug of brandy into each mug. It was that kind of day.

The house was strangely empty; usually around this time of day Mandy's brothers were milling around, smoking and watching TV. Ian made a comment to that effect.

"They're all out looking for work," Mandy said with a shrug. "Social Services are on our ass. Checking we're making enough to support ourselves without our dad, or some shit. Happens every now and then."

"You should tell them to talk to Linda," Ian said without thinking. "She's just been saying we need someone scary running security." He raised his eyebrows. "Definitely counts the Milkoviches in, huh?"

Mandy considered this. "You think she's serious? Sounds like something Tony or Jamie could do pretty easily." She laughed. "Doesn't require too much brainpower."

Ian, both relieved and disappointed that she hadn't suggested Mickey, said: "Exactly. We watching this movie, or what?"

There was a silence before Mandy answered, a silence that indicated that Ian probably shouldn't have been so quick to change the subject. "Actually... I was thinking maybe we could do something else," she said hesitantly.

"Okay," Ian said slowly. "What do you want to do?"

Mandy bit her lip. "Well... you know we've been dating for two months now?"

"Uh, sure," Ian said. "I mean, if you say so. Sorry, I'm not too good at keeping up with that shit."

She laughed nervously. "Well, whatever," she said. "It's just, you said you wanted to take it slow... but I thought maybe you might wanna, like... Do something. Else. Have sex."

Ian reeled away from her. He couldn't help it; whatever he had expected her to say, that hadn't been it. There he'd been, so worried about Kash and Mickey that he hadn't noticed that his actual girlfriend wanted to have sex with him. What the hell was he going to do?

"Um," he said. Then stopped. He literally had no idea what to say.

"Jesus Christ, I don't get it!" Mandy burst out. "Most guys are fucking desperate to lose it! What the hell is wrong with you?" Her eyes narrowed. "You getting it from some other skank? Fucking lying to me?"

"Christ, shit, no!" Ian exclaimed. "Fuck, Mandy, calm down!"

But she was not to be pacified. "Well, then, what is it? You into someone else? Got a tiny cock, fucking faggot, hermaphrodite,  _what_?"

Ian flinched visibly when she said the word _faggot_ , but luckily she was too involved in her rant to notice. When she had finished speaking, he said: "I just... I really like how things are  _now_." Hit with a burst of inspiration, he went on, "I don't even know if I believe in having sex before you're married."

She stared at him. "What's to fucking believe in? It's not a religion, Ian. It's sex. What's the big deal?"

He shrugged slowly. "Just how I feel," he said self-consciously, aware just how far from the truth this was.

Mandy sat back, arms folded angrily across her chest. She stared straight ahead, and her teeth sank into her bottom lip. It seemed to be a family habit.

"Hey, come on, Mandy," Ian said, putting a hand on her shoulder. She shifted him off her.

"I think you should leave," she said tightly. 

"What? Why?" Ian said, bewildered. "Mandy, not wanting to have sex hasn't got anything to do with you." Which was true.

"Whatever, Ian," she said. "Just go. It's not like you actually want to be here, right? I mean, we chat and shit, but we haven't done anything except kiss in two fucking months! You obviously don't fancy me, so just fuck off!"

"Shit, seriously?" Ian was starting to feel pissed off. Yes, he was lying to Mandy, but she was talking fucking crazy. Like there was no way he could like her if he didn't jump her the second he saw her. "You're really expecting me to tell you that I fucking fancy you? What are we, third grade?"

Now he'd really pissed her off. Her fist snaked out and punched him hard on the arm. "Just fuck off!" she hissed. "Get the fuck out of my house!"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Ian said, standing up. "You know what, fuck you!" He gathered up his coat and scarf and marched away, not giving Mandy a backwards glance.

Once out of her house, Ian felt shitty. Yeah, Mandy was acting like a crazy person, but she'd spent her whole life believing that if someone didn't want to fuck her then they had to pay, preferably with broken bones. He gulped a little as he thought of this. And anyway, Ian didn't have a leg to stand on in the moral high ground. Nobody was more of a liar than him, and at least Mandy had had the guts to tell him how she felt.

 "Hey, man," Lip said as he walked through their bedroom door. "Thought you were staying at Mandy's tonight?"

"Got into a fight," Ian mumbled.

"You okay?"

Ian shrugged.  _Not really_ would have been the honest response, but he didn't even know how to begin explaining the argument he and Mandy had had. Lip, like Mandy, wouldn't get why he didn't want to bang her, and unlike Mandy he'd see through any lie Ian told like a shot.

Lip said, "Don't fuck it up, man. Mandy's awesome." He sniggered. "Kind of jealous I didn't get there first!"

"Yeah, yeah," Ian muttered, falling back onto his bed. Lip jumped down from his own bed, moving over to the dresser to roll a couple of cigarettes. He was always good at knowing when Ian didn't want to talk any more. They sat in companionable silence, smoking until the moon was high in the sky and they could just go straight to sleep.

*

He didn't see much of Mandy over the next week. She appeared to be skipping any classes they had together, and if he saw her in school she would turn the other way. He figured their fake relationship must be over. He didn't really know how to feel about that; partly it was a relief not to have to lie to her, but mostly it was just sad. He missed her; missed hanging out with her and chatting to her about stupid shit. But he had no idea how to deal with it without fucking her.

He compensated by hanging out with Lip and Karen. It was SAT season, so Lip was flush with the money he got sitting other people's exams; the three of them hung out in the bathroom at school smoking and hitting up the athletes that came in to pee. Hardly anyone left the bathroom without giving Lip an order for at least an assignment.

Ian didn't really like Karen. Lying was like second nature to her; he knew he wasn't exactly one to talk, but at least when he lied, he felt bad about it. She fucking enjoyed it. She never really talked to him either, like he was of no interest to her because he wasn't fucking her. That struck a nerve. But without Mandy Ian found he didn't have a whole lot of other people he wanted to spend time with.

This impasse lasted until the Parent-Teacher Conferences. Fiona had been running around like a headless chicken trying to get Frank to come, because Carl was on the point of being expelled; she'd had no luck, so she and Lip were trying to persuade his teachers that they could speak for him. Debs and Carl sat outside the teacher's office, and Ian wandered off for a piss and a smoke.

When he reached the bathroom, he saw that he was not the only one to have that idea. Mandy was sitting high up on the windowsill of the bathroom, her legs looking even skinnier than usual in ripped black jeans and heavy buckled boots. She was gazing out the window, sucking in a lungful of smoke.

"Mandy," he said, and he was genuinely happy to see her. She turned sharply towards him; her face was red, and she looked around as if searching for an escape.

None was forthcoming. The window was too high up to get down in a hurry, and he was standing by the only door. So she snapped: "What the fuck do you want, Gallagher?"

Her tone, and the way she called him Gallagher, reminded Ian forcefully of Mickey. He shook his head to clear the image away. "Just wanted to talk to you," he said.

"About what?" she said warily.

He sighed. He still didn't know how to deal with the sex issue. "Look, I swear, it's not about you," he said. Trying to be as honest as he could. "But I don't want not to be with you. I just... I don't want to have sex. With any girl, right now." That was nothing but the truth.

She swung down from the windowsill, balancing on the edge of a sink and hopping down to the floor. "I don't get it," she said baldly. 

"I know," he said. "I don't know how to explain it. That's just how I am."

"Fine," she said caustically. "Whatever, Ian. So you don't want to have sex. Why are you fucking telling me?"

"Because I don't like fighting with you!" he exclaimed in frustration. "Can't we just keep things the way they are?"

"What's the point? You don't even like me. Why do you care so much?" 

He stared at her. "I do like you," he said. 

She rolled her eyes, obviously not believing him. "Whatever, Ian," she said. She pushed past him, out of the bathroom, and Ian was left wondering what the hell it was she wanted him to say.

It wasn't until two days later, after Carl had broken some douchebag's leg with a wooden bat, that he figured it out.

"Fuck," he said in disbelief; Lip, who was writing some assignment up on his bed, looked up. "She wants me to tell her I love her."

Lip laughed. "Clingy, huh?"

Ian reddened. "No," he said defensively. "I guess no one ever has before."

His brother shrugged. "Fair enough, I guess. Do you?"

"Do I what?"

Lip rolled his eyes. "Do you love her, idiot!"

Ian considered this. Mandy was just about one of his favourite people. She was his best friend. Time spent around her was time he could relax, be as much of himself as he'd ever be able to be in front of other people. When he was with her he felt... calm. Happy. He said in surprise: "I think I do." It wasn't a lie. He  _did_ love her - but maybe in a different way than she wanted him to.

"So go and tell her, douchebag!" Lip said.

Ian rolled off his bed, and for once in his life, did as he was told.

*

He had to pound on the Milkoviches front door for about fifteen minutes before Iggy finally opened it.

"Fuck off," he said when he saw who it was. "She doesn't want to fucking see you. Take a hike before I fuck you up."

But Ian, who was not remotely scared of Iggy - he was all talk - pushed past him into the house.

Mandy wasn't in the living room, so he legged it down the corridor and into her room. She was sitting on her bed rolling a cigarette, and she didn't look surprised to see him. Obviously she'd heard him banging on the door.

"Fuck off," she said.

"No," Ian replied. "I fucking miss you, Mandy."

She kept her head bent down on the cigarette and didn't say anything; he took that as permission to carry on. "I don't think you're even pissed that I don't want to fuck you. I don't think you even give a shit."

She looked up sharply. "Don't tell me how I fucking feel!"

He continued as if she hadn't spoken: "You're just scared I don't like you. Well, I  _do_. I think you're fucking amazing." He hesitated. "I fucking love you," he said, quietly. Knowing she wouldn't take it the way he meant it.

She didn't answer, her fingers trembling as she finished rolling the cigarette. He moved closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Mandy? Did you hear what I..."

The end of his sentence was drowned out as she leaned forward and kissed him. Her mouth smashed into his, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck; he responded with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, clutching her waist as he kissed her back. If this was the price he had to pay to have Mandy in his life - he would pay it.

She pulled away from him with a smile. "Haven't you got work?"

"Uh, yeah," he said. "Linda's going to have my ass. I'm supposed to be there now."

"Well, go on, then!" she said. She smiled even wider. "I'll walk you home."

He grinned, leaning forward to peck her on the lips briefly before he went. His chest felt unbelievably light; he hadn't realised how much fighting with Mandy had been getting him down.

The light feeling lasted all the way to work, where he swung in the door, stowing his backpack behind the counter. "Sorry I'm late," he said to Linda, who was standing in front of the counter tapping her foot.

"About time," she said caustically. "I have to go pick up the kids. And Ian?"

He looked up. "Yeah?"

"We have our new security guy." With that, she swept out of the store.

Ian looked around. Sure enough, there was someone else in the room, wearing a battered black jacket with the word SECURITY printed on it in large white letters. That person was Mickey Milkovich.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am super worried that this chapter is OOC, but Mandy does strike me as someone who is really sensitive and a little bit clingy, like the way she was with Lip. Comments as always are much appreciated! Enjoy :)


	9. No Smoking In This Joint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian's made the decision to be happy. That means that he'll be able to handle working with his ex-fuck and the guy he has a crush on, no problem. Won't be awkward at all. Of course not.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. It was long enough for Ian to notice that Mickey was looking particularly good that day; his hair was slightly less scruffy than usual, and it looked like he had shaved. His arms looked toned and bulky underneath the security jacket.

Then Mickey said, "You're a fucking dead man, Gallagher."

Ian blinked in shock. "What?" he said.

"I'll wait 'til shift's over, 'cause Social Services're on my ass and I need the job," Mickey said menacingly. "But after that..." He cocked an imaginary pistol with a vicious-looking grin on his face.

Ian was still reeling. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Mandy," Mickey said. "You messed with my sister, and now you're gonna get a beat-down."

Ian was so relieved to understand that he actually laughed a little. "Christ, Mickey, no, you don't--"

"Don't know, don't care," Mickey interrupted. "You get on with whatever the fuck it is you do around here, and after work I'm going to kick your fucking face in."

Things were kind of awkward after that.

Ian spent most of their shift in silent prayer that Mandy would make good on her promise to walk him home. He wasn't afraid of a fight, but he wasn't stupid enough to think he was any match for Mickey Milkovich. He'd end the day a lot bloodier than he started it, and the irony would be that he would get what he'd been fantasising about for the last couple of months: a chance to roll around on the floor with Mandy's brother. Just not in the way he'd imagined.

Every so often he'd sneak a glance over to Mickey; mostly he just leaned against the fridge scratching his chin and glaring daggers at people as they came into the store, but once he caught Ian looking and drew a line across his throat with his index finger. Ian tried not to look over so much after that.

At five o' clock he snapped up to attention, a weirdly twisted smile stretching across his face; he watched in satisfaction as Ian walked reluctantly over to the door to put up the CLOSED sign.

"Look, Mickey, Mandy'll be here soon, she'll explain," he said as he did so. "Things are cool with us now."

"Whatever, Gallagher," Mickey said, and even though it was the stupidest time in the world to feel a rush at the nickname, Ian still did.

"Fuck, Mickey! Can't you just--"

"What the fuck is going on?" And to Ian's relief, Mandy pushed into the store, her black-rimmed eyes narrowed. "Mickey?"

"Warned him what would happen if he messed with you," Mickey said unrepentantly.

"Fucking drama queen," Mandy said in a bored kind of voice. "Ian and me are fine now, so you can go and fuck with someone else's boyfriend. We going home or what?"

"Yeah," Ian said gratefully, grabbing his jacket. "Just a sec."

And, staying behind the counter, he pulled his jacket on and zipped it up, adjusting it so it completely covered him from neck to groin. That was kind of necessary, since the thought of Mickey pounding his face in had given him a fucking massive hard-on.

*

Even though Ian stayed alert that whole evening at Mandy's waiting for Mickey to arrive, he still wasn't back by the time Ian had to reluctantly concede defeat and go home. So he was pretty nervous to see him the next afternoon at work.

Mandy had told him that Mickey had applied for the job almost as soon as she'd told him about it, obviously finding it preferable to working at the meat-packing plant, which was what Jamie and Tony had wound up doing. She also told him - not very reassuringly - that Mickey had beat the last guy to make her cry to a pulp. "But don't worry," she said. "I'll meet you after work again. He won't hurt you if I'm there."

Which wasn't the most comforting thing in the world to hear.

So it was with some trepidation that Ian pushed open the door and walked into the store. Linda was obviously waiting for him to arrive, because she left almost without a word once he got there. And there was Mickey: leaning against the same fridge as yesterday, one foot up, arms folded, and a strange smirk on his face, watching Ian stow his backpack underneath the counter.

"Hey, Mickey," Ian said cautiously.

"Gallagher," Mickey said, and it was almost polite. Ian took this as an invitation.

"Look, did Mandy explain about yesterday? We're fine now."

"Don't care, Gallagher," Mickey said, rolling his eyes; Ian felt the familiar thrill of the nickname.

And that appeared to be the end of it. Whatever Mandy had said to Mickey, he'd obviously accepted it; the almost-camaraderie that had existed between them before from the multiple afternoons spent kicking back on the Milkovich sofa seemed to return, at least in part. Ian was deeply relieved; he hadn't exactly relished the idea of being beaten up by the guy he secretly wanted to fuck.

Ian didn't comment on any of this, of course. He just swung himself up onto the seat behind the counter, grabbing a magazine from the shelf underneath it where he and Kash always stashed them. Mickey raised his eyebrows.

"Not planning on doing any fucking work, huh?"

Ian looked up at him. "What, you worried I'm showing you up?"

"Nah, man," Mickey said, back to his usual habit of gnawing his bottom lip. "Yesterday you were bouncing off the fucking walls."

A slight smile threatened the corners of Ian's mouth. "You really going to chew me out about being jumpy yesterday?"

And Mickey grinned. Like properly, full-on grinned. And fuck if he didn't have a great smile.

It looked like he might be about to say something else, but before he could Lip burst into the store. Ian had never been less pleased to see his big brother.

"Hey, man," Lip said, coming over to the counter and leaning his arm on it. "You around tomorrow night? Think Steve's taking Fiona away to some fancy-ass hotel."

Ian laughed. "Fiona'll never agree to that in a million years."

"I don't reckon he's planning on giving her much of a choice," Lip said with a smirk. "You okay to help me keep an eye on the kids?"

"Sure," Ian said. Lip grinned.

"You wanna take a break, go for a smoke?"

Ian shot a quick look at Mickey, who was pretending not to be listening as he stared off in the opposite direction. "Nah, man, I have to work," he said. "You know Linda'll have my ass. She's getting the cameras fixed."

"Fair enough," Lip said affably. "See you later."

Almost as soon as the door had closed behind him, Mickey said: "What, no smoking in this joint? Fuck that."

Ian bent his head to look at the magazine again, although he wasn't taking in a word he was reading. Without looking up, he said, "You'll be out on your ass if you break Linda's rules."

"Bitch don't scare me," Mickey muttered, but he slid the packet of cigarettes he'd been getting out back into his pocket anyway. "So you babysitting tomorrow night, Gallagher?" He laughed.

"Something like that," Ian said coolly. He was so over people making fun of him for taking care of his family. Now he did look up, meeting Mickey's eye and holding his gaze determinedly.

"Okay, okay," Mickey said, holding his hands up. "Calm the fuck down, Gallagher."

Ian, who was completely calm, raised an eyebrow. Mickey laughed, and it was a nicer laugh this time.

"I got to pick up my dad from the slammer," he said conversationally. "Prick's getting out tomorrow."

"How long you reckon he'll be out for this time?" Ian asked bitingly. "Three, four months?"

For a second, he thought Mickey might hit him; then the other boy's face relaxed, and he grinned at Ian. And Ian couldn't help it: he smiled right back.

"Fuck you, man," Mickey said, but he was still grinning.

"You going to the Sox game Friday?" Ian asked. Mickey stared.

"Didn't take you for a baseball fan, Gallagher," he said.

Ian shrugged. "Me, Mandy and Lip are sneaking in. Lip knows someone."

Mickey's teeth worried at his bottom lip. Ian was kind of amazed it wasn't permanently bleeding. He said: "Your brother bringing that skank?"

"What, Karen?" Ian said in some surprise. "Probably. Why?"

"Fucking whore," Mickey said succinctly. Ian raised his eyebrows. It wasn't that he disagreed with this - in fact, he was amazed his brother hadn't caught an STI yet - but he had no idea Mickey even knew Karen well enough to form an opinion. Seeing Ian looking, Mickey said: "Fucked around with Joey a couple times."

"Give him something?" Ian asked. Mickey shrugged.

"Gave him the fucking run-around," he said. "Prick was buying her flowers and all that shit. Turned out she was doing half of Southside."

"She still is," Ian assured him.

Mickey shrugged again. Ian had already noticed the way he could hardly keep still; he was constantly twitching, looking over his shoulder, swinging his arms - barely able to hold someone's gaze for longer than thirty seconds. Like he was always in fight or flight mode.

"White Sox fucking suck," he said. Ian blinked at the lightening-fast subject change.

"Don't tell me you're a Red Sox fan," he said with a laugh.

"Nah, man," Mickey said. "Fucking baseball. Waste of time."

"You don't like baseball?"

"Whatever, Gallagher. It's a fucking game. Who gives a shit?" Mickey was looking at his feet, shuffling them a bit.

Ian considered this. He wasn't a particularly passionate baseball fan himself - he just liked sneaking into games, getting drunk and going home on a high. "I guess it's just fun," he said. He looked up at Mickey with a smile that for some reason felt almost suggestive. "What's wrong with fun?"

Mickey looked back at him, and for the first time held his gaze. The pause before he spoke was just a second or two too long. "Nothing, man, if that's what you find fucking fun."

"So you don't want to come Friday?" Ian had no idea why he was pushing this; why it felt like they were talking about something other than baseball.

Mickey raised one shoulder and lowered it again. "Whatever, Gallagher," he said again. "If I haven't got anything better to do."

And Ian smiled, a fucking massive smile that stretched his whole face. Mickey kicked at the floor, and then a couple of kids swung into the store and the conversation was over.

*

It was a good thing Mickey had decided not to hold a grudge, because Mandy didn't meet him that afternoon after work. The next day at school she came hurrying over to him.

"Shit, Ian, I'm sorry! You okay?"

"What's she talking about?" Lip asked. 

Ian shrugged. "She wasn't there to talk Mickey out of beating me up yesterday. Lucky he didn't want to, huh?" But he wasn't really annoyed. The brief conversation he and Mickey had had was enough to make him practically euphoric.

Mandy, having satisfied herself that Ian was okay, gave him a hug. A couple of people wolf-whistled as he kissed her; Ian's ears went pink. But the memory of their argument was enough to stall his irritation - he was determined not to lose her again.

It was a half-day, and the three of them headed home at lunchtime. Ian was shivering; his old jacket had finally worn through on the elbows and collar, and he hadn't saved enough for another one. Mandy's gloved hand was firmly entrenched in his.

"Gotta love these half days," he said as the rounded the back of a massive truck stopped in the road. He swung his arms briskly, trying to keep warm.

"Good thing public education is broke," Mandy agreed, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She grinned at Ian, and he held up his hand for a high five.

"Yeah, waste of time anyway," Lip said. "The only thing these people are equipped to teach is how to live with crippling disappointment."

"Hey, wanna catch a movie later?" Mandy asked.

"Can't, got to be at work by three," Ian said, trying to sound disappointed. In reality, the idea of seeing Mickey again at work was making his stomach do somersaults. He shivered again, violently; Mandy unwound her long blue scarf from her neck and threw it at him. He put it on gratefully. Kash had told him he would buy him a new jacket when the weather got colder; he'd even picked it out, showing it to Ian in a catalogue. Now, however, he would never receive it. The downside to dumping your rich boyfriend.

"Hey!" The shout came from behind them; the three of them turned to see an overweight man climbing down from the cab of the truck they had just passed.

"Yeah, I'm talking to you," he said, pointing at Lip. "You got a phone?"

"What, your truck break down?" Lip asked, looking over the lorry speculatively. From the labelling on the side, it looked like it was packed full of raw meat.

The driver looked annoyed. "No, genius, I like standing in the middle of a shitty neighbourhood with my dick in my hands!" Lip smirked; the man continued: "Look, I'm already two hours late on this load, I tried to take one shortcut and this is what I get. My goddamned kid drained my phone playing Doodle Jump, my goddamned wife took my charger... Listen, I'll give you five bucks if you let me use your phone. Just one call."

Lip's eyes flicked back to the truck; Ian, who got a bit of a kick out of watching his brother con people, rested back on his heels with a smirk on his face.

"Oh, we don't have a phone, our dad says not 'til we're eighteen," Lip said earnestly. "But you know what, there's a bar--" pointing down the street behind them "--I think about ten blocks that way. What's it called? O'Flagherty's. Tell them your family is from County Cork."

The man's face creased incredulously. "Ten blocks?"

Ian threw an arm around Mandy's shoulder, mainly to stop her from sniggering. "Maybe five," he said sincerely. "Straight shot."

The man looked from one to the other; seeming to believe them, he fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a five-dollar bill. "This is yours," he said, waving it under Lip's nose, "if you keep an eye on the truck."

"Five bucks!" Lip exclaimed.

"Oh cool, thanks mister!" Ian said, and it was probably fortunate for the con that the man didn't look at his face while he said it.

The man nodded, walking past them; the three of them turned to watch him leave. After a couple of steps, he turned back, pointing at Lip. "Hey, make sure no one gets near it," he said.

Lip pointed back. "Will do," he said firmly. 

Thirty seconds later, once he was out of sight, Mandy slipped Lip her phone. The truck was empty within half an hour.

*

Ian was whistling as he pushed into the Kash and Grab holding a massive haunch of beef. Mickey, leaning in his usual position against the fridges, stood up straight at the sight of it.

"Fuck, Gallagher, where'd you get that?"

"Fell off the back of a truck," Ian said with a laugh, slapping the meat down on the counter. Mickey laughed.

"Like hell it did," he said, but he moved to help Ian carry the beef to the store room anyway.

"Where are you going to put it?" Ian whirled around. He hadn't realised Kash was in the store, but there he was, stacking shelves at the back. Ian flushed, looking at the ground.

When he spoke, his tone had totally changed. "Figured I'd leave it in the store room 'til Linda gets the chance to see it," he said flatly. He could actually  _feel_ Mickey looking between him and Kash, trying to figure out why Ian was acting so weird, but he forced himself not to look at him.

Kash was staring at him, and when he glanced up he could see a whole mix of shit in his employer's eyes; he wasn't sure if Kash wanted to hit him or kiss him. All his former lover said, however, was: "Make sure you put some ice on it."

When Ian and Mickey came back out of the store room, Kash was gone, his shift over. Mickey grabbed a drink from the cooler while Ian swung up on the stool behind the counter; instead of going back to lean against the fridge, however, he sauntered forwards to where Ian was.

"What's with you and towelhead?" he asked.

"What?" Ian said, stalling. That was the problem with Mickey; he was too forward to  _not_ ask the question.

"You know what, asswipe," Mickey said. "He have some kind of problem with you?"

Ian shrugged. "Guess so," he said. He braced himself, expecting Mickey to push the question, but the other boy just slurped his drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

When he did speak, it was another 180 subject change. "Who's your brother know?"

Ian's face creased in confusion. "Huh?

Mickey waved his hand like he was irritated Ian hadn't caught on to his train of thought. "At the fucking Sox game."

"What, you mean to sneak us in?" Ian asked. Mickey just looked at him. "Uh, some chick that works there. I think she sells tickets or some shit."

"He bang her?"

Ian shrugged. "Probably at some point, don't think it was recent though. Why do you care?"

Mickey lifted one shoulder and lowered it again. "I don't," he said.

Ian didn't think this was true, but just then some customers came into the shop, and he didn't get a chance to ask Mickey any more about it.

At around half past four, Lip sauntered in. Unlike the last time, Ian was actually pretty pleased to see his brother; the silence in the store had been a little awkward, like Mickey thought he'd said too much before. Wandering behind Lip was Carl, who looked at Mickey's tattooed knuckles with interest.

"You guys managing without Fiona?" Ian asked.

"Yeah, we got plenty to eat," Lip said. "You don't know anyone who died recently, do you? We need flowers and a coffin."

Ian considered. "Don't think so," he said. "What's it for?"

"Frank," Lip said. "Killing him off to get rid of the debt collectors."

Ian bit his lip as he thought. "I think some kid got knifed a couple weeks back," he said. "Don't know much about it, though."

"Jaime Tiler," Mickey said unexpectedly. "Fucker started it, though."

"What, that was you?" Lip said with a snort. "Should have known."

Mickey gave him a death stare. "Not me, asshole. Tony." Seeming to feel like more of an explanation was required, he went on: "Tiler moved in on Tony's girl. Pounded her face in when she said no." He spat without warning on the floor. "Prick's got flowers and a fucking  _cross_ down by 76th Street. Where it happened."

"76th Street?" Lip said with interest. Mickey nodded; Lip indicated the door with his head, and Carl left immediately.

"Thanks," Lip said. "What time do you finish tomorrow? Funeral's at four."

"At home?" Ian asked. Lip nodded. "I'll be there."

Mickey was staring at Ian for a while after Lip left. "What the fuck was that about, Gallagher?"

Ian shrugged. "Frank owes some assholes six grand," he said. "They've been hanging around for a while."

Mickey considered this. "Want me to get my brothers on it?" he asked.

"Nah, it's okay," Ian said. "I think faking his death will work." He hesitated. "Maybe if it doesn't, though."

Mickey shrugged. "Whatever," he said. "I gotta go soon. Dad's getting out in a hour."

"I won't tell Linda if you split early," Ian said.

Mickey gave him half a smile. "Thanks," he said. And Ian tried to pretend that he didn't care that he was left alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has taken me forever to write for some reason, so sorry for the delay! It's here though, so please enjoy and comment! I know Gallavich is taking a while to build up to, but I just have this idea in my head that Mickey and Ian actually get to know each other as friends before they start fucking. Only a couple of chapters to go though, I swear (and I really mean it this time).


	10. It's Safe To Say There's A Problem Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian gives Mickey the surprise of his life after the Sox game... but he's not the only Gallagher revealing secrets that weekend.

Ian practically fell up the steps leading to his house. He didn't think he had ever laughed so much in his life; even banging his shin painfully against the bannister didn't hold him back. He fumbled with his key in the front door, still almost doubled over with amusement. Mandy, giggling like a mad person, hung on his arm with her head resting on his shoulder.

"Fuck's sake, man, let us in!" Lip said from the bottom of the steps. His hair was standing on end from the number of times Karen had drunkenly run her hands through it. Beside him, Karen rested an arm on his shoulder; on her other side stood Iggy, who was sniggering manically, and Mickey, who was biting his bottom lip as though trying to hold in a smile. Ian's gaze lingered on Mickey's mouth, on his tattooed thumb rubbing habitually across his chin. He was wearing a grey scarf and a thick jacket, but Ian didn't actually have to see his chest to remember what it looked like...

"Ian!" Lip called, bringing him back to reality. He turned back to the door, and with a final twist of the key, burst into the house.

Never in a million years had Ian imagined that Mickey would actually come with them to the Sox game, not after what he'd said about not liking baseball, but when he, Lip and Karen had arrived at the Milkovich house to pick up Mandy and Iggy - who was apparently a huge White Sox fan - Mickey had sauntered out with an expression that dared anyone to ask him what he was doing there. Ian hadn't been able to do anything except stare in surprised pleasure at him.

Mandy had thrown her arms around him, obviously assuming that the giddy expression on Ian's face was for her, and he'd kissed her with overwhelming enthusiasm, his mind still on Mickey. It was probably the first time he'd kissed her with a hard-on, he reflected. He was too high on life to even feel bad about that.

Of course, they were Milkoviches, so it wasn't long before he was high on more than just life. They smoked a couple of joints on the way to the stadium, passing them around the little group as they ambled along; once they were there, and had sneaked in thanks to the help of a plump brunette girl who stared adoringly at Lip the whole time, Iggy passed around some pills. Ian wasn't even sure what they were; all he knew was that things seemed to go very fast after that.

The game could only be described as awesome. They were rowdy and exhilarated, singing and shouting and throwing beer because they  _could_ , because they were young and high and the whole of life was sitting on one big intoxicating plate in front of them ready for them to take it. Or at least that's how Ian felt; like he could have anything he wanted, like everything was going to go his way, because how could it not? How could anything go wrong when the lights were this bright and the air was so crisp but his body was warm, sweating, slick and smooth to the touch? When Mickey was standing beside him with his arms in the air - shouting about some shit or other - and his jacket rose up just enough for Ian to catch a glimpse of his jutting hipbones? If he'd leaned over, he could have kissed Mickey right then and there, but he didn't, because he didn't need to. Everything was perfect and amazing just as it was.

And then they were walking back home again, and Karen was riding on Iggy's back while Lip chased them, laughing, and Ian tickled Mandy 'til neither of them could breathe for laughing, and even Mickey snorted out his amusement, and they laughed and laughed even as the high wore off and Iggy threw up in somebody's front yard.

As they crashed through the front door into the living room, Fiona and Steve, who had been curled up watching a movie, turned around with a start.

"Lip? Ian?" Fiona said with concern. "You guys okay?"

For some reason this was incredibly funny, and Ian bent over laughing again. "Fuck, yes," he managed.

Mickey threw himself into the armchair. "You got any drink in this joint?" he said, and Ian, still chuckling, moved into the kitchen. He found a case of beer and a bottle of vodka in the fridge, and brought them back into the living room where Lip and Karen were already making themselves comfortable next to Fiona and Steve, their mouths glued together. Steve looked faintly disgusted; Fiona looked amused.

Iggy, still looking the worse for wear, sank into another chair; he still held out his hand for a beer though, gulping it down with his eyes closed like it was nectar. Mandy and Ian sat on the floor round the other side of the coffee table, and Fiona came down to join them, pulling some baccy out of her pocket.

"Bet I can roll more than you in a minute," Mandy giggled drunkenly; Fiona grinned.

"Bring it," she said, slamming some filters down on the table. Lip unstuck himself long enough from Karen to go put a CD on, and just like that, it was a fucking party.

Karen ended up winning the competition to roll the most cigarettes; she stuck four of them in her mouth, lighting them all at once and blowing smoke in Ian's face. Mandy lurched over and sucked some of it in, hiccuping with laughter and licking Ian's neck. Karen was the one who started off the dancing; she bounced off the sofa, wiggling her ass in Lip's face as Steve jacked up the volume on the CD player. Lip pressed a kiss to the small of her back before standing up, wrapping his arms around her and sucking on the side of her neck as their hips rolled together.

Fiona clambered up onto the coffee table, knocking back a shot of vodka as she danced; Steve was bopping around in a manner that could really only be described as embarrassing with Mandy swaying around him, and even Iggy was sloshing his beer from side to side in time with the beat. Ian stayed sitting on the floor, watching all his friends dance and have fun, and he smiled in buzzing, humming delight.

There was a loud bang as the back door burst open, and Kev marched in wearing boxers with an old shirt and black socks.

"Hey, Fiona! What'd I tell you!" he yelled, stomping over to them.

"Here we go," Fiona said with a giggle, falling off the coffee table into Steve's arms. "Neighbours of Satan!"

"Sorry, Kev," Ian called unrepentantly, while Karen lurched over and slung her arms around Kev's neck. He disentangled her hastily as Vee appeared in the doorway behind him, moving over to the CD player and switching off the music.

"Fucker," Iggy slurred. Kev ignored this.

"The day you stop using my fucking toaster to melt Carl's crap, you can play whatever shit you want," he said. "But if you're gonna pump out this time of night, you're gonna pump out the stuff that we like." He pressed a button, and a different CD came roaring into life.

"Oh yeah," Fiona cried, pushing away from Steve to shake her tits in Vee's face. Lip, lighting a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, punched the air in time to the beat, while Kev poured himself a shot of vodka.

"Come on, Ian!" Mandy shouted, pulling him up off the floor and winding her arms around his neck.

"Okay, okay!" Ian said, like dancing was some kind of fucking hardship. Mandy just smiled; she knew how much he liked to dance. She pressed her face into his shoulder as he swayed and shook and just fucking _danced_ , losing himself in the drugs and the music and the look in Mickey's eyes.

Because Mickey was watching him. Mickey, who was the only person not dancing and not likely to dance; Mickey with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and a beer clutched in one tattooed hand; Mickey, the hardest teenager this side of Chicago, was watching Ian move with the strangest expression in his light blue eyes and a curious smile on his face. It was an expression Ian couldn't understand, but just looking at it - watching Mickey watching him - made his dick stiffen impossibly, digging into Mandy's pelvis.

She must have felt it, because she pulled back suddenly to look at his face; obviously deciding she liked it, she tucked her head back into the crook of his neck again and pushed her hips against Ian's hard-on. And Ian, because he was drunk and high and must have had some kind of fucking death wish, thrust back against her with his eyes fixed firmly on Mickey, not even  _trying_ to pretend it was Mandy getting him off.

*

Ian was woken by the sun glinting through his bedroom curtains and falling on his face; his head was aching ridiculously, and he could feel dried drool on his cheek. He blinked painfully, pushing Mandy off his chest.

Mandy. She was in the fucking bed with him. He didn't remember her getting in; he didn't remember going to bed at all. The last thing he remembered was - shit - rubbing his cock against his girlfriend while eye-fucking her brother.

Fuck.

Mandy shifted a little in her sleep, and the covers fell off her; she was lying on her front, sprawled across Ian's chest, and she wasn't wearing a shirt. Slightly worried now, he twitched the covers up to peek down at the rest of her body.

Yeah. She was naked.

And so was he.

"Mandy.  _Mandy_!" he hissed, nudging her. She groaned.

"The fuck?" she mumbled.

"Did we fuck?" he whispered.

Still groaning, she pushed herself up onto her elbows. "Huh?"

"Did we fuck?" he repeated urgently. She collapsed back onto his chest.

"Fuck, no," she said in a muffled voice. "Like you even could've in the fucking state you were in."

"Why am I naked?"

She snorted. "You took off all your clothes in the middle of the fucking living room."

"I did?" Ian said, aghast.

"You did," came Lip's voice. Ian looked up to his bed to see him leaning across Karen's slumbering form. "Trust me, it was not something I'm gonna forget in a hurry." He pulled a face.

"Wasn't so bad," Mandy said in an amused voice. Ian closed his eyes in mortification. Then another thought occurred to him, and he opened them again.

"Why are  _you_ naked?" he asked her accusingly. She looked up at him playfully.

"Didn't seem fair to be wearing clothes when you weren't," she said.

"Now that part," Lip said almost reverently, "I am  _definitely_ not going to forget any time soon."

"Fuck off," Mandy replied, flipping him the bird. He laughed.

"You guys always so fucking  _noisy_ in the morning? Fuck," said another voice, irritated and roughened by sleep. Ian's chest constricted. He would have known that voice anywhere.

Mickey Milkovich was lying on the floor of his bedroom bundled in blankets, and he was blissfully, beautifully shirtless.

Ian glanced down, meeting his eyes, and then stared quickly at the ceiling. He might not remember stripping off the night before, but he wasn't stupid enough to think he'd done it for anyone other than Mickey. His nose was still intact and unbloodied, so presumably Mickey himself hadn't realised this, but Ian wasn't about to do anything to give him cause for suspicion.

It was safe to say he had a fucking problem.

*

Eight hours later, Ian was feeling considerably fresher; he'd slept, showered and eaten, and best of all there were no Milkoviches around at all to disrupt his peace of mind. Mandy, Mickey and Iggy - who had crashed out on the sofa - had left earlier in the day, and now the Gallaghers plus Vee were settled around the TV, clattering beers and juggling bowlfuls of snacks. Fiona tickled Carl with a grin - she'd hardly been hungover at all, teasing Ian about his display of nudity with all the smugness of sobriety - and he pushed away from her with a laugh, falling back onto the sofa.

"Can you please turn it on already?" Lip said, coming in from the kitchen loaded up with bottles of beer.

"Yeah, hurry up, I gotta get back to work," Ian agreed. He had a couple of ciders in one hand and a big bottle of orangeade in the other. He wasn't sure if he was looking forward to or dreading the return to the Kash & Grab; on the one hand, he and Mickey had been getting on better than ever, chatting and laughing almost every day that week, but on the other, the last time he'd seen the Milkovich he'd been stripping for him. Apparently. The memories were still pretty hazy.

Fiona pointed the remote at the TV, switching it on just as Steve swung in the front door. "Hey," he said jovially, looking round at everyone. 

"Missed you, stranger," Fiona said with a grin, sitting down on the sofa and pulling Liam onto her lap. Steve bent over to kiss her.

"You too," he said warmly, kissing her mouth with exaggerated noises.

"Get a room," Carl said disgustedly, plopping down on the arm of Ian's armchair. Ian shoved him; Carl, who was not a Gallagher for nothing, shoved him right back.

"Get your tickets?" Steve asked Lip. Ian frowned. He didn't really like the idea of Lip helping Steve steal cars, 

Lip, unconcerned, waved the concert tickets he'd been saving up for in the air. "Yeah, thanks."

"Glad I could help," Steve said, sitting down next to Fiona. Vee shoved along to make room for him.

"Glad you're glad," Lip said nonsensically, reaching over to pass Steve a beer; he took it with a nod of thanks. Vee laughed, patting Ethel's knee beside her; the girl was sat in silence, quietly nuzzling her baby son's head.

"This popcorn's burnt," Steve commented.

"Our microwave sucks," Fiona said. She turned to look at him. "That doesn't mean I want you to buy us a new one!"

He laughed, reaching to shuck her nose with the kind of cutesy noises that were the complete opposite of porn. Ian grimaced at exactly the same moment as Carl, and they were both sniggering as the front door clicked shut behind them and Debbie walked in the room.

They all turned to look at her. She was wearing a pale pink jacket that Ian had never seen before, and she looked utterly distressed.

"Debs?" Fiona said. "Honey, what happened?"

Debbie, clutching her hands in front of her, didn't reply.

Lip said, "What, Dad have one too many again?"

Ian sighed. "You just gotta ignore him when he's like that, Debs." He felt a rush of affection for his younger sister; she was still too young to be as disconnected from Frank as he, Lip and Fiona were.

For some reason, this seemed to piss Debbie off. "Why do you always blame Dad first?" she said inexplicably.

Fiona frowned in confusion. "Who else is there?"

Debbie sniffed. "She's over at Sheila's."

"Who?" Steve asked.

There was a silence. Then Debbie said: "Monica."

Ian could hear the blood rushing in his ears as the word repeated in his mind. Monica. _Monica_. A person Ian had spent most of his life alternately hating and missing.

Steve was looking from one downcast face to another, obviously confused. "Who the hell's Monica?"

And when Lip spoke, he sounded as leaden as Ian felt. "Our mother," he said.

Ian had been barely ten years old when she'd left the first time. Just a fucking kid, really. He could still remember Fiona - almost fifteen, with the scar from her appendix removal still bandaged - squatting down to tell him that his mom had left. He couldn't take it in. It had been the beginning of two of the darkest years of his life, with the threat of homelessness constantly round the corner, Frank on a constant bender, and everything frightening and out of control. But that hadn't been the worst time.

It had been worse when she came back. It was two years later, and then suddenly she was sweeping in like a whirlwind, back in Frank's bed, saying hello to all her old friends down at the Alibi. And Ian had believed - really, truly, to-the-bottom-of-his-heart  _believed_ \- that she was back for good.

She had stayed for just over a year. Long enough to get herself pregnant with Liam, long enough to worm her way back into a vulnerable twelve-year-old's affections, and long enough to completely shatter him beyond all recognition when she fucked off again, leaving her four-month-old baby behind. Not to mention her five other children.

Fiona was shifting Liam onto Steve's lap, moving over to comfort Debbie. Because that's what she did: assumed the maternal role. She'd been doing it for five years.

"Debs," she said. "Did she..." Whatever she had been going to say was lost as Debbie pulled violently away from her.

"What do you care?" she cried tearfully. "You'll be living with Steve in that house he bought next door."

She stormed away up the stairs, and everyone turned to look at Steve.

"Surprise," he said weakly.

Fiona looked like she didn't know what to react to first. Her painfully bewildered gaze moved from Steve to Lip, who was mirroring her expression.

Ian, however, didn't have any trouble deciding on his response. He hadn't seen his mother for nearly three years, and as far he was concerned, he could go another three hundred without her. His heart was hammering painfully in his chest. He was angry, betrayed, hurt by a pain that he'd thought he'd buried too far away to touch. He would not, he  _would not_ , give her the satisfaction of crying over her. Even if she didn't know about it.

He gathered up his backpack, swinging out of the armchair. "I'm going to work," he announced, hating how shaky his voice sounded.

"Ian, come on, wait!" Fiona said, reaching for him; even now, even  _now_ , she wanted to make everything okay for him. Even when there was no way in hell that she could.

Because Fiona, as much as she wanted to be, wasn't his mother. She couldn't make anything okay now. Right now, there was only one person on the whole fucking planet who could make things okay for Ian, and as fucked up as it was, as fucking  _insane_ as it was, that person was Mickey Milkovich.

He was going to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little filler here, and I'm sorry if the summary was misleading (well, not really, I kind of wrote it that way deliberately, but then again there's nothing wrong with a bit of naked Cameron!) but don't worry, we're getting to the good bits! I was a bit confused about this as I was rewatching the pilot where Frank tells Steve how old all the children were when Monica left and it made no fucking sense at all! No way could Liam have been four months when Ian was ten because in no known universe is Liam five during season 1. So I kind of reworked it a bit.
> 
> I also realised that these ages - if you put Ian at fifteen during season 1, which I do - would make Fiona currently nineteen. Which equally doesn't make a lot of sense, because she works at a bar during season 2 and she'd have to be 21 for that. So in my universe, because I don't like fucking with canon details, she was almost fifteen and Ian was only just ten, which would mean that now when he's fifteen she can be twenty, and hit her 21st sometime in the summer juuuuust before she starts working at the bar. So yeah. That's those slightly incongruous details dealt with in a way that makes my anal compulsive mind happy. 
> 
> And please, if you can think of a pun combining my anal compulsive mind with some Gallavich smut, do share.


	11. Nothing To Do But Say It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the chips are down and everything is going wrong, there's really only one place Ian can go...

Ian burst into the Kash and Grab with his lungs burning and his legs aching. He had run all the way from home as fast as he could, and as used to high-speed chases as he was, he was too emotional to keep himself going properly. His eyes felt hot and gritty; sweat was sticking his hair to the top of his head and his blood was pumping furiously around his body, staining his cheeks pink.

It was probably lucky that there weren't any customers in the store; Mickey stood alone, Linda apparently having trusted him enough to leave him by himself. He wasn't stood in his usual place by the coolers today; now he was standing in front of the counter, leaning his elbows on it and sipping from a drink he'd obviously grabbed from the fridge. He looked over in some surprise at Ian's noisy entrance.

"The fuck, Gallagher?" he said.

"I need to see you," Ian stated baldly. Because that was the truth. Nothing to do but say it.

For almost sixty seconds, Mickey didn't say anything at all. They were a long sixty seconds, at least as far as Ian was concerned; sixty seconds in which the enormity of what he had just done began to hit home.

Mickey, despite the front he put out to the rest of the world, wasn't stupid. He must have seen Ian watching him, must have at least suspected that his little strip show was meant for him. There was no way he could misinterpret Ian's words. No way Ian could pretend he hadn't meant what he meant.

And this was Mickey fucking Milkovich. His girlfriend's brother. The son of a man who beat on gay teenagers for fun.

Fuck.

"So you're fucking seeing me," Mickey said, an unfathomable expression in his eyes. He stared at Ian, and it felt like a challenge.

And Ian, inexplicably, felt something crash over in his chest. Like he was going to cry, except that he hadn't cried since he was twelve and he wasn't about to start now, so he bit his lip hard until the rush of tears subsided. He said, his voice wavering: "I don't know where else to go." Which was true.

Mickey took a step towards him, his eyes narrowing. "Something happen?"

Ian nodded.

Mickey's thumb reached up to tug on his lower lip in the familiar motion that Ian had come to recognise, and he looked almost... speculative. Like he was sizing Ian up.

And Ian felt his dick twitch in his pants. He made a decision.

He took a couple of steps back, until he was leaning against the door. He reached up behind him to pull the deadbolt across and flip the sign to CLOSED. He shrugged his jacket off his shoulders, chucking it behind the counter. And he stepped forward until he was less than a foot away from Mickey.

And throughout it all, Mickey did nothing. He didn't ask Ian what he was doing. He didn't try and stop him. He just watched him with a strange expression on his face, his thumb rubbing and rubbing on his bottom lip.

"You like Slim Jims?" Ian asked. Mickey blinked, and Ian felt a sly smile cross his face; he was using Mickey's own trick against him, changing the subject without warning.

Slowly, Mickey nodded.

"New order in the back," Ian said.

And without even looking at Mickey, he walked past the other boy into the store room, letting the door close behind him with a bang.

Something was rushing in Ian's ears as he stood in the back room. His heart was thumping so loudly he could barely hear anything else; when he looked down at his hands, he saw that they were trembling. Like something huge was about to happen.

If he was being honest, he would admit that he didn't have a fucking clue what he was doing. He had never taken a gamble like this on a guy before; it wasn't like he had that much fucking experience, for crying out loud! Roger Spikey had been the one to proposition him - apparently he'd seen him get a hard-on in the boys' locker room one time - and Kash had been so fucking obvious it was a wonder Linda hadn't found out years before Ian came along. With Mickey, there were no clues, no hints,  _nothing_ that he could put his finger on and say, yes, this guy is gay. In fact, most of the evidence pointed to the opposite.

Except.

Except he was still here, face intact. That was pretty much the only thing Ian had to go on; that Mickey, faced with Ian's pretty blatant sexuality - and his naked dick, apparently - hadn't beaten the crap out of him. It didn't seem much to go on, but it was  _something_. Mickey had watched him strip, watched him lock the door, watched it all without so much as a word.

Did that mean something?  _Could_ it mean something?

Ian was still trying to answer that question when Mickey appeared in the doorway of the store room.

He shuffled in, like he wasn't exactly sure what he was doing; his eyes on Ian's face, he stopped a couple of feet away.

And he pulled off his shirt.

Later on, Ian would replay that moment over and over in his head. That beautiful moment when it all came together; the moment when Mickey slid his tattooed fingers underneath the hem of his shirt and swiped it off in one smooth fluid motion that set his muscles rippling. He yanked the shirt over his head, messing up his dark hair, and tossed it to one side. Then he crossed the final few steps to stand in front of Ian, and reaching out, finally, _finally_ touched him.

His hands were on Ian's hips, tugging at his t-shirt, pulling it hastily up his body. Ian lifted his arms up quickly, allowing Mickey to tug the shirt over his head. When it was on the floor, he lowered his hands again, and suddenly there was a grin on Mickey's face. A mischievous grin, a grin that made Ian want to laugh with him, to laugh and smile and  _fuck_.

And the thought of fucking Mickey lent desperation to his fingers as he lowered them to Mickey's pants, fumbling with his belt. Mickey seemed as needy as he was, his hands tangling inadvertently with Ian's as he attacked his zipper and kicked the pants down to pool around his ankles. Ian fell to his knees, bringing Mickey's boxers with him, and holy _fuck_ , there was Mickey's cock.

For a second - a very short second - Ian just looked at it. It kind of helped that it was exactly in line with his eye-level while he was crouched on the floor. Then, without hesitation, Ian enclosed it with his mouth.

Mickey made a kind of gasping, groaning noise as Ian sucked in as much of his dick as he could. He grasped the shaft with both hands, dragging his mouth away with aching slowness. Sucking on the very tip - Mickey grunted in a way that made Ian tremble - he moved his hands up and down fluidly, keeping his pace steady.

"Fuuuuck, Gallagher," Mickey panted; Ian looked upwards, and saw that the other boy's head was tipped back, his eyes closed. Taking this as a sign to continue, he began sucking in earnest, his hands helping where his mouth couldn't reach. He pumped faster and faster, moving one hand round to clasp Mickey's ass. The older boy convulsed under his touch; Ian placed an experimental finger at Mickey's entrance, and felt a rush of satisfaction as Mickey bucked against his hand. He pushed the finger further into Mickey's hole, and was rewarded with another delicious, shuddering groan.

Mickey's hand slapped down onto Ian's shoulder, squeezing hard as he began thrusting forward into Ian's mouth. Ian pushed a second finger into the other boy's ass, rotating it until he touched Mickey's prostate. Mickey responded by clenching around Ian's fingers, rocking backwards and forwards between fingers and mouth like he couldn't decide which he liked more.

Ian kind of liked that idea.

His fingertip grazed Mickey's prostate again, and the older boy let out a long, low breath. It sounded like relief and pleasure and release all at the same time. Like he'd been holding everything he was inside, and could only now let it go.

With a deep gasp, he came, spurting hot and salty in Ian's mouth. Ian slowed down his relentless sucking, licking lines up Mickey's cock, white rivers of jizz spilling out of his mouth and running down his chin. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, removing his fingers from Mickey's ass and giving it one last squeeze before he fell away from the other boy.

"Fuck," Mickey said. It was a comfortable expletive. He looked down at Ian. "Didn't know you had it in you, Gallagher."

Ian, who was wiping Mickey's jizz off his chest with a cloth he'd found slung over a nearby shelf, grinned and didn't reply. 

He felt strangely calm as he pulled his shirt back on. If someone had told him that morning that he'd be giving Mickey Milkovich a blow-job today, he would have laughed. And maybe jerked himself off over the fantasy of it. But he wasn't in shock. It didn't feel like something insane or impossible had happened, though it should have felt that way.

In a weird way, it actually felt  _right_.

He stood up, grinning at Mickey, who was tugging his shirt back on. The other boy rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth was twitching.

"That was fun," Ian said appreciatively, and Mickey snorted.

"Whatever, Gallagher," he said, and he turned to leave the store room.

Just then, they heard a yell, almost like someone cheering. Ian frowned; it kind of sounded like... Kash?

"Ian!" came a loud shout. "I did it! Linda's pregnant!" Shit. It was definitely Kash. "Everything can go back to the way it was before! Ian? Finally knocked her up! Where are you? I did it! It's over!"

The door to the back room crashed open, and Kash strode in, an excitable smile on his face. A smile that faded when he saw Mickey standing in front of him.

Ian took a quick look around. Everything looked normal; he and Mickey had replaced all their clothes, and they hadn't really spilled anywhere. Apart from the slight scent of sex - which maybe was only obvious to him - Kash wouldn't be able to tell what they had been doing. His blood ran cold as he imagined the scene had Kash walked in just five minutes earlier.

"What are you doing back here?" Kash asked in a totally different voice.

Ian closed his hands around a random box nearby. "Replacing stock," he said, his tone a touch defensive.

Kash's eyes flicked to Mickey, as if gesturing for him to leave; Mickey, who obviously had no intention of making things easy for him, leaned against the wall with raised eyebrows.

"Linda is pregnant," Kash said resolutely. Like that made all the difference in the world.

"Heard you before," Ian said. "Congratulations."

Kash was breathing heavily, looking from Ian to Mickey and back again. Like he was trying to decide if he was brave enough to say what he wanted to in front of the Milkovich boy.

Obviously deciding that he wasn't, he shrugged. "Well. I guess I'll get back home. Just thought you might like to know."

And he left almost as soon as he had arrived, slipping out the back way.

Once he was out of earshot, Mickey pushed himself off the wall. His eyebrows were still sky-high.

"Seriously, Gallagher? Towelhead?"

Ian raised his shoulders slowly and lowered them again in reply. Now that Mickey had revealed himself - gorgeous, beautiful, youthful Mickey - it did seem kind of stupid that he'd spent more than a year fucking Kash. Embarrassing to admit.

"Fuck me," Mickey said, shaking his head, and he turned and walked out of the store room, leaving Ian alone.

*

Lip was sitting on the steps of Sheila's house when Ian finally arrived. He sat down next to his brother, who passed him the cigarette he was smoking without having to be asked.

"Thought you were at work," Lip said.

Ian shrugged. "Kash let me go early."

"You alright?"

He shrugged again. "What did I miss with Mom?"

Lip gave him a smile that was entirely without amusement. "Well, you know how Dad's a total fucking asshole?"

Ian snorted equally mirthlessly. "Yeah."

"Turns out he's the good one," Lip said.

Ian didn't even have the energy to smile.

There was a crashing noise from inside, and the sound of a woman shouting; the two boys got up without a word, Ian stubbing the cigarette out beneath his foot, and went into the house.

And there was Monica.

"I can't believe you sucked me back in here for money!" she was exclaiming, following Frank through from the kitchen to the living room. Fiona, Debbie, Carl, Sheila and an enormous black woman with what looked like dreadlocks were sitting around the room watching the scene.

"I did no such thing," Frank said unconvincingly. He turned back to face her. "But since you're in town, why don't you sign up for this little thing and I'll help you and..." His words were lost in the flurry of his hands and his beer slopping out of its can.

"Oh, fuck you, Frank!" Monica cried, pulling away from him. Her blonde hair bounced on her shoulders as she sank onto the sofa next to Debbie.

"Wait, you brought her back here?" Lip said accusingly. Monica turned as he spoke, and spotted Ian, standing sullenly by the door.

"Oh, Ian!" she said in a totally different tone of voice.

But Lip wasn't done. "You... you knew where she was the whole time?"

Ian figured it made sense that Lip was pissed about that. That Frank had known where Monica was and had failed to tell them. But it didn't make much of a difference to him.

After all, Monica had known where  _they_ were the whole time, too. And she'd done fuck all about it.

The strange woman stood up now, striding over forcefully. "Okay, look, this little reunion was bound to happen sooner or later anyway," she said with an air of someone taking charge of the situation. "We were thinking about coming round to talk to you about something else." This directed at Frank.

Monica was waving her hands around. "No, no, not now!" she said fretfully.

"Yes, now, yes, now," the other woman said. "Moni and I want to take Liam to live with us."

For a second, all that went through Ian's head was:  _Moni?_

And then he clocked what the woman had just said.

Obviously Fiona was quicker on the uptake than him, because she had exploded out of the armchair where she had been sitting head in hands. "What?"

"Over my dead body!" Frank exclaimed, standing up; Ian almost felt proud of his father then.

"How about Moni signs whatever the hell it is you need, we get Liam," the woman said.

"Done," Frank said with a curt nod. Whatever feelings of pride Ian might have had dissipated in an instant.

"No fucking way, you can't have Liam!" Fiona cried.

"Why the hell not, he's not even Frank's!" Monica said.

"Fact is, Liam is black!" the strange woman said. Ian, along with possibly all of his siblings, stared at her. She went on: "All you white folks scooping up black babies like fashion accessories have a rude awakening coming! There will be a backlash if people don't stop underestimating the cultural importance of a black parent raising a black baby!"

Ian realised that he had pushed off the wall, walking a few steps further into the room. Everyone was staring at the woman.

"Liam needs me, and he's coming with us!" she finished dramatically.

"Out of the fucking question, Roberta," Lip said.

"Roberta and I want to start a family of our own," Monica said pathetically.

"Well, how about you finish this one first?" Fiona said incredulously.

Debbie started to cry. "They're taking Liam?"

"Yes!" Monica and Roberta said at the same time as Fiona uttered a forceful "No!"

"Nobody's taking anyone anywhere," Lip said firmly.

Fiona moved around the back of the sofa. "You don't get to abandon your kids and then show up one day to take your pick of the litter!"

Frank stood up, obviously deciding to contribute. "Oh, now, that's not fair," he said. "Your mother had made mistakes but she's here now, that's got to count for something."

"Shut up, Frank," Fiona spat. He sat down again. Fiona said angrily, "This isn't about you. This is about  _you._ " This was directed at Monica, and there was such venom in her voice that even Ian shrank a little away from it. "This is about what you didn't do. It's about what  _I_ did." She pointed at her own chest. "And you know what?  _I_ did a fucking great job. Debbie is class president. She's on the debate team, going to Nationals. And Lip, he's top of his class. He  _set_ the curve. Ian was promoted in ROTC, and he tested out of English!"

Ian forced himself to look at Monica. Her face was trembling with unshed tears.

"And Carl made something blow up for his science fair!" Fiona said. "And you know what?  _They_ did it all, no thanks to you, because you weren't here!" She was dissolving into tears now, but her voice stayed strong.

"I appreciate that, Fiona," Monica said in a shaking voice. "But I'm here now, and Liam belongs with me."

"He doesn't even know who you are!" Fiona shouted.

"I'm his mother!" Monica said hysterically.

"You're my mother too!" Fiona sobbed out. And then both of them stopped yelling, because their faces were twisting and changing as they cried, and the only sound was an oblivious Liam chattering to himself as he played with his blocks.

At last, Monica said tearfully: "Maybe I'll never be able to make things right with you, but there's still time with Liam." She moved over to perch on the edge of the coffee table, putting her hands out to Debbie and Carl. "And Debbie and Carl, I am so sorry if I hurt you," she said. "Please, I love you so much, please let me be your mommy again. Please."

And after a moment, first Debbie, then Carl leaned forward to hug her.

Ian understood it. He remembered how much he had wanted to believe her, too. But that didn't stop him from biting his lip and turning away from the pathetic little scene in front of him.

Fiona looked distraught. After all the hard work she had done, Ian could only imagine how awful it must be to see her younger siblings embrace Monica like nothing had happened. She walked over to the front door, grabbing her coat.

"You know what?" she said. "You're right. You are their mother." She sniffed. "And you're here now, so I'm done. I'm done with the school, and the bills, and the clinics. I'm done. They're all yours now, Mom! Good luck." And she slammed the house keys down on a side table, turning and walking out.

Leaving her family to watch their rock walk away from them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it finally happened - Gallavich is here! I am so sorry it took eleven chapters to get this far, I so didn't envisage that when I started this fic. I've been just as impatient for it to happen - finally getting to write this chapter was awesome!
> 
> Updates are going to take a bit longer now as I'm back at work so don't have as much time to write, but they will happen, I promise - I've got far too many ideas to let this slide! All the lovely comments and constructive criticism really do galvanise me, I promise, so keep them coming - anyone got any ideas/predictions for the future?


	12. A Whole New Level Of Lying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian tries to deal with everything going on in his life... and there's one person who can help him process.

Ian was sitting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee clutched in hands, letting the bickering of his siblings and mother wash over him.

Fiona had been gone for a whole night - staying with Steve at the house next door - and already the stress was getting to Monica. She rushed around the kitchen trying to do everything while Lip did his best to piss her off. Roberta sat comfortably at the kitchen table with Liam in her arms, barking orders and generally irritating everyone.

Ian just stayed the fuck out of it.

They'd trooped back the night before to an empty house, and he and Lip had stayed up for hours smoking in their bedroom and listening to Monica and Roberta talking about them. About Liam.

About how they were going to take him away.

Now, his mother interrupted his reverie. "Ian? Could you help her?" she said, gesturing to Debbie, who was looking for marker pens. He swung out of the seat with a disgusted look on his face, setting his mug down on the counter. Monica said in a harried sort of way: "If y'all would tell me these things the night before it'd be a little better in the morning." She swung her arms frustratedly; Ian and Lip exchanged a look. A look that said there was no fucking way they were going to make this easy on her.

"I need forty bucks," Lip said flatly.

"No," Roberta said.

"Bob, do you have a five?" Monica asked with an air of trying to appease everyone.

"In my wallet, where it's gonna stay!" Roberta answered crossly, hefting Liam up on her hip.

"Look, I need a new calculus textbook," Lip said. "I can get it used, only costs twenty."

He looked over to Ian, who instantly took his cue. "Where are our lunches?" he said, pulling on his jacket.

"Huh?" Monica said distractedly.

Ian just stared at her. So did Debbie and Carl.

"Um," their mother said.

Roberta sighed. "What is everybody looking at? Start spreading peanut butter on bread!"

"Right," Monica agreed gratefully, grabbing the bread. "So, okay, where's the jelly?"

*

Getting to school was such a relief that Ian practically fell into Mandy's arms.

"Woah, Ian," she said. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he said, straightening up again and kissing her briefly. She smiled, taking his hand.

Lip was not so lucky. Karen wasn't in school that day, and he looked like he could have done with some comfort. As they'd left the house, Monica had chased him down, trying to talk to him; Ian didn't know what she'd said to him, but Lip hadn't really spoken since. He had a faraway kind of look in his eyes, and he strode off without a word before Ian could stop him.

His brother seemed back to normal after second period, when he approached the table where Mandy and Ian were sitting and smoking. He reached out for Ian's cigarette, grinning as he took it.

"Mandy," Lip said with a smile.

Mandy grinned back. She had always got on well with Ian's brother. "Lip," she replied.

"That's a nice outfit," Lip said. "What is that, pirate wench?"

Ian scanned Mandy's outfit. She was wearing grey leopard-print tights with black buckled boots and a short black skirt that, coupled with the grey beanie hat, nose ring and pink and yellow stripes in her hair, did kind of make her look like a pirate. Mandy was smirking up at Lip.

"You like?" she said. Lip gave a surprised kind of smile, taking a puff on the cigarette.

"What's your third period?" he asked Ian, still grinning a little stupidly.

Ian, ignoring the fact that he was pretty sure his girlfriend and his brother had just got their flirt on, replied: "Health, why?"

"We're going to need to miss some school," Lip said. Ian jumped up immediately.

"See ya," he said to Mandy. 

"So where are we going?" Ian asked as they walked out of the school yard. Lip didn't answer at first, guiding him over to an expensive-looking silver car parked down a side street. So that's what he'd been doing during second period.

"Going to see what the lesbians are up to," he said finally, unlocking the car with a click of some keys Ian didn't recognise.

They climbed inside, and Lip drove straight home, parking across the street from the Gallagher house.

"Where'd you get the car?" Ian asked.

"Borrowed it from Steve," Lip said, his eyes fixed on Roberta's enormous black lorry parked on the other side of the street. "Been working with him a bit."

Ian raised his eyebrows. "Doing what?" he said flatly. Lip didn't answer; Ian snorted. "You better not let Fiona find out about it or she'll kill you," he said. "And him." He gazed out the window, rubbing his mouth. 

"You doing okay?" Lip's question surprised him. He hadn't realised his distraction was so obvious.

"Lot going on," he said.

"Yeah, it's weird having Monica back," Lip agreed.

"Yeah, that too," Ian said without thinking.

Lip looked over to him sharply. "What, something else?"

And then Ian was stuck. Because of course something else was going on; he'd given Mickey Milkovich a blowjob in the back room of the Kash & Grab, and he had no idea how to process that. And there was a lot to fucking process.

"It's kind of hard to explain," he said dismissively.

Lip turned so that his whole body was facing Ian.

"Try me," he said.

And for a second, a brief, shining second, Ian thought that maybe he could tell him the truth. 

 _"_ _I'm gay, and I cheated on my oblivious girlfriend with her brother. I have no idea how he feels about it, but I want it to happen again. And I used to fuck Kash, though not so much lately, but when Kash and me were hot and heavy, Linda found out about it and is blackmailing Kash into having another kid."_

As if.

Lip was still watching him, and he had no fucking clue what to say, when he was saved by Monica and Roberta coming out of the house. Monica was clutching Liam to her chest like she was drowning and he was her life raft.

"Here they come," he said, gesturing, and Lip was distracted, throwing the car into gear. Their mother and her girlfriend climbed into the cab of the black truck, and when they pulled away, the silver car followed silently.

When the lorry pulled up outside a DNA testing centre, Ian felt like he should have known. Should have predicted it. Because Roberta might have been a fucking psycho, but she wasn't stupid: if Liam wasn't Frank's - which seemed unlikely, given the colour of his skin - he didn't have any parental rights.

Lip parked across the street from the centre, and they watched Monica and Roberta go inside. Neither of them bothered getting out of the car; they couldn't risk the pair seeing them.

"So we didn't finish our conversation," Lip said.

Ian turned away from the window. "Huh?"

"You were going to tell me what's going on with you?"

Ian lifted his shoulders defensively. "Nothing, man," he said. "It's fine."

Lip frowned. "Name a single time I've let you down," he said. Slowly, so Ian could tell he meant it.

Ian bit his lip. Because he couldn't. And Lip knew it.

So he said: "Banged someone. Not Mandy."

"Holy shit," Lip said, his eyebrows raised. "Does she know?"

Ian snorted. "You saw her earlier. You think she knows?"

"Shit," Lip said again. "Who's the other chick?"

"Can't tell you."

Lip seemed to accept this. "You like her?"

"Who, Mandy?" Ian said. "Yeah, course I do!"

Lip sighed, like Ian was being slow. "No, the other chick. The one you banged."

Ian thought about Mickey. Thought about him sliding off his shirt, about the look on his face as Ian sucked his cock. He couldn't help it. A smile kind of melted onto his face. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I do."

Lip's eyebrows disappeared into his fringe. "You going to keep seeing her?"

Ian shrugged. "Don't know. I want to."

"And Mandy?"

"I don't know, man," Ian said tiredly. "I don't want to hurt her. Can't break up with her."

"Huh," Lip said, like he was considering this. And Ian realised that there was no judgement in his face. No alienation. It actually felt really good to talk to his brother about this, even if it was a very condensed version of the truth.

Maybe he could do it. Maybe he could tell him all of it, and Lip wouldn't hate him.

"Lip..." he began, but just as he was starting to get the words out, Monica and Roberta came crashing out of the DNA centre, and the moment was gone.

Roberta was in a foul temper. "He's not ruining my fucking family!" she shouted as she marched down the street, leaving Monica to scurry behind her with Liam in her arms. "I swear to God, he's not going to take my son away from me! Fuck this shit!"

"Wow," Lip said flatly. "They looked unhappy."

"Yeah," Ian said. They looked at each other, grinning. Then they opened the doors, getting out of the car, and Ian followed Lip into the centre.

They approached the front desk, where a bored-looking receptionist was tapping away at a computer. Lip leaned on the counter.

"The two women who just left must not have been happy with the news they got, huh," he said conversationally.

"Oh, yeah, happens," the woman agreed without looking up. "Had a guy last month hang himself from a pipe in the men's room."

Lip nodded like this was totally normal.

The receptionist turned around to face him. "So can I help you?"

"Yeah," Lip said like he was considering this. "I think... I think maybe you can. We'd like DNA tests."

Ian looked sharply at his brother; the woman was already fumbling in a drawer, pulling out a couple of brown padded envelopes. "Follow the instructions in here and send them back in," she said like she'd already lost interest,

"Thanks," Lip said, grabbing the envelopes.

"What the hell was that?" Ian asked as they left the DNA centre.

"What, you don't want to know if Frank is really your father?" Lip asked.

Ian considered this. It wasn't such a bad idea. "Guess so," he conceded. Lip grinned, and they got in the car.

*

He was still thinking about it as he walked over to Mandy's. He and Lip had swabbed their cheeks and posted the tests back to the clinic; now all that was left to do was wait. He felt jittery just thinking about it.

He knocked on the door of the Milkovich house.

And Mickey answered it.

Ian was so startled that he actually couldn't speak for a few moments. With everything swirling around his brain - Monica returning, Roberta's mission to take Liam, Kash getting Linda pregnant, the DNA test, his guilt over lying to Mandy - Mickey actually hadn't been right at the top of his brain at that moment.

He came shooting right back into Ian's consciousness now though. Especially looking the way he did in a beige tank top and sweatpants.

"Gallagher?" he said.

"Um," Ian said. "Looking for Mandy." Not the most coherent entrance, but under the circumstances it could be worse.

"She's not back yet," Mickey said, but he held the door open anyway for Ian to come in. He was looking distinctly shifty, even more so than usual; he was twitching and rocking, and could barely meet Ian's eye.

Ian stepped into the living room. An enormous tattooed man wearing nothing but a pair of boxers lay face-down on the sofa, snoring gently.

"My dad," Mickey said by way of explanation. He shut the door and sauntered past Ian to the door with the STAY THE FUCK OUT sign on it. Ian stayed where he was.

When he reached his bedroom, Mickey turned and looked back to Ian. "You coming, Gallagher?"

And Ian scrambled over to him. Because of course he fucking was.

Mickey closed the door behind him, and then he just stood there, looking at Ian and chewing on his bottom lip. Like he wasn't entirely sure what to do next.

Ian decided to make things easier for him, shucking off his jacket and pulling his shirt over his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mickey smirking at him, beginning to peel off his own tank top.

They didn't stop stripping until they were both buck-naked, and then Mickey grabbed Ian's upper arms forcefully and pushed him back onto the bed. Ian felt a thrill of fear and excitement run through him. It was actually happening; he was going to fuck Mickey Milkovich.

Or was he? He sat up suddenly. Mickey didn't exactly seem like the kind of guy who would let Ian top. Not like Kash, who was a natural-born bottom if ever there was one; Mickey seemed like the kind of guy who would do all his own fucking.

Ian would take it, from Mickey.

And then Mickey's tattooed hand grasped his cock, and there wasn't space in his brain to think about anything else at all.

Ian's head dropped back and his mouth fell open as Mickey jerked him off; there were no words to describe how fucking  _good_ it felt, how fucking amazing it was to have Mickey touching him like this. The only thing better would have been to have Mickey suck him off, but he got the sense that wasn't going to happen.

He was right. After about a minute or so, Mickey released his cock, sliding up Ian's body and scratching at his chest. Ian's back arched into Mickey's touch; he'd never been handled so roughly, and he fucking loved it. The older boy pinched his nipple, and he felt a gasp forcibly leave his mouth. Mickey was hovering above him, and he leaned up to kiss him.

And maybe it was just coincidence that Mickey decided to roll off him at that exact moment. Or maybe not.

Mickey was suddenly lying beside him with his back to him, and Ian was presented with the delicious view of his ass; without even thinking about it, he slid his hands down to grab it.

And if Mickey had asked him what the fuck he was doing, he could have passed it off as a brief lapse in concentration. But Mickey didn't do anything except groan and push back into Ian's hands. So he slipped a finger into the other boy's hole, snaking it up until he touched his prostate.

The shudder that ran through Mickey then shook right into Ian as well.

He inserted another finger, and then a third; Mickey's resulting moans could only be described as exquisite.

And that's when Ian must have lost his head. Because Mickey Milkovich was not the type of person to ever let someone else have the control; not the kind of guy to let anyone else manhandle him.

And yet that's exactly what Ian did. He rolled off the bed and grasped Mickey around the hips, yanking him across the rumpled covers so that his feet fell to the floor and his ass stood up in the perfect position for Ian to slam into it.

He kind of thought that Mickey would turn around and hit him, and so he waited, his cock aching, hovering above Mickey's body.

Mickey said: "What's the fucking hold-up? Get the fuck on me!"

And Ian did.

With a grunt, he slammed his cock into Mickey, relishing the deep groan of pleasure he elicited from the other boy. For a few moments he remained stationary, balls-deep into Mickey, and then he eased back out again. 

And in. And out. He didn't know how long he fucked Mickey for; his sense of time, along with his sense of pretty much anything other than the feel of Mickey around his cock, was shot to pieces. All he knew was that after some indistinguishable period he felt the rush of his own impending orgasm.

"I'm coming," he gasped. 

"About time," Mickey grunted; Ian looked down at the bed to see the evidence that the other boy had already finished. 

Another couple of thrusts and Ian reached his release; panting, he crumpled out of Mickey, collapsing past him onto the bed. The other boy followed suit, pushing aside the blanket to fall down beside him. 

"Fuck," Ian said. 

Mickey didn't answer, tugging the covers up to cover them both. Like he didn't want to look at their naked bodies. Like he didn't want to see what had just happened.

"You okay?" Ian persisted. Mickey snorted.

"You ever stop talking, Gallagher?" he said.

Before Ian could reply, and certainly before he could move, the door creaked open and the enormous man from the sofa walked in the room.

He didn't even look at them, padding through the room to the bathroom. Ian had always thought it kind of sucked for Mickey, having the only bathroom through his bedroom; he had never felt that more strongly than right now. 

He could feel Mickey tense up beside him, his body bunching into itself and becoming somehow smaller. Ian wasn't exactly relaxed himself, but he could feel just through the pressure of Mickey's hip against his that whatever tension he was feeling was nothing to the other boy's.

A series of increasingly unappetising noises emitted from the bathroom; Ian waited, holding himself still. Eventually, with a grunt, Terry Milkovich emerged.

"Mandy's making eggs," he said as he walked past. So at some point while Ian and Mickey had been fucking, Mandy had come home. How many more risks was he going to take?

Mickey didn't reply, and for a second it seemed like Terry wouldn't notice their state of undress. Then, just as he reached the door, Mickey's father stopped.

He turned.

Ian's heart stopped.

Terry said: "And put some clothes on. You two look like a couple of fags!"

Then he left, and Ian breathed again.

*

"Hope everybody's hungry!" Monica said, proudly setting a blackened lasagne on the table. It was twenty to seven, and for some fucked-up reason Ian and his family were sitting around the dining table playing Happy Families with their mother.

Not that they'd had much of a choice. Fiona had already told them how unlikely it was that she could get custody of them.

"There you go, Ian," Monica said in the kind of voice Fiona wouldn't use even to talk to Liam. "It's your favourite!"

Ian looked up at her. "What is it?"

"Lasagne," she said happily. "Carl, could you start passing the salad? Please?"

"Monica is Liam's mother," Roberta announced loudly. "And I know you won't be happy, but I want--"

She was interrupted by Monica, who was serving lasagne onto plates like some kind of drugged-out Stepford Wife. "Jesus, Bob, can we just enjoy our dinner, and then talk after?"

"Talk about what?" Debbie said quickly.

"Debbie, please," Monica said with a reproving look. "Where's Lip?"

"Had something to do," Ian said. Lip was busy picking up their DNA test results.

Monica sat down. "He's not coming?" she said, her voice pathetically disappointed.

"Sorry I'm late!" But it wasn't Lip. Everyone around the table stared as Frank stumbled into the room, tugging off his jacket. "Did I miss the chow?" he asked. "Ooh, looks good!"

Fiona, clearly deciding to ignore her father's entrance, said with a glare: "If you called us here to tell us that you're taking Liam and leaving again, we don't want to hear."

Monica beamed at her eldest daughter. "Fiona, you're upset. I get it. I was married to Frank for eighteen years. I know, it's like swallowing broken glass every day."

Frank, pouring himself lemonade, said, "Hey!"

The door slammed, and Lip came in; Ian looked up at him quickly, relieved to see him. 

"Oh, Lip, we just started!" Monica said with pleasure. Ian rolled his eyes. Lip had always been her favourite.

"Your mother said six thirty, you lose your watch?" Roberta asked aggressively, hefting Liam up on her ample hip.

Lip looked at her with disgust. "I don't have a watch, Bob," he said, taking off his bag and jacket.

"What's the news?" Ian asked in a low voice.

Lip held up a pair of crisp white envelopes. "Haven't opened it get, figured we should do it together."

"Thanks," Ian replied. 

"Me and Ian have decided to get our DNA test done too," Lip announced, using a knife to slice open one of the envelopes. "On the off-chance that maybe we aren't Frank's kids."

"What?" Monica said disbelievingly.

"Yeah," Lip drawled. "We figured why should you and Bob get to have all the fun?" Monica looked upset; Frank, who was methodically chewing through the cardboard lasagne, looked indifferent.

Ian just watched his brother.

"Holy shit!" Lip said. Ian leaned forwards. So did Monica.

Lip looked over to him. "Congratulations, Ian," he said. "You are not Frank Gallagher's son."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh this chapter was fun to write! I'm really enjoying writing this story, so I hope you guys are still enjoying reading it. It did leave me with a lot of sad Lip feelings - I love Lip and Ian's relationship, so the idea that Ian is too scared to tell him the truth is heartbreaking! But if you think about it, that actually isn't non-canon - what with Kash and Roger Spikey, presumably Ian had already spent at least a year or so not telling Lip the truth before he found out in S1, and Ian didn't actually 'fess up himself. Soooo.... how would you like Lip to find out? Or should Mandy know first? Thoughts, concric and general comments are welcomed :D


	13. Being With You Is Like Electricity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey likes it rough - and Ian is happy to oblige.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going to say it, with the full awareness that it may alienate me from every person who's ever posted here: I don't like this whole Firecrotch thing. I kind of think it sucks as a nickname.
> 
> I accept that it's what Mickey yells at Kash when Ian's hiding in the van, but I'm a little hazy on the time he says it next to the baseball field. For the longest time (by which I mean, until about twenty minutes ago when I read it on tumblr) I thought he said, "do you need some time before I crouch?" which could be incredibly stupid of me but I'm still not 100%, so that is why I've edited that line in this chapter.
> 
> Disclaimer over. Please don't hate me.

Ian pumped in and out of Mickey like fucking him was oxygen.

Nothing beat this: slamming his cock into Mickey while he was bent over the steel shelves in the store room of the Kash & Grab, fingers clenched together, their deep groans of pleasure intermingling. Nothing could make him feel more on fire, more alive than the feel of Mickey's ass under his hands, the humming pulsing thrill of his sweat-slicked skin, the deep guttural groans emitting from his throat to mix with Ian's own.

It had been several weeks now since Monica had left, tearfully returning Liam to Fiona's arms as she did so. Ian didn't know whether his mother had realised that it was the right thing to do, or whether a taste of the Gallagher life had just made her shy away from any kind of responsibility; either way, it had been a relief. Both to have his brother back and to have Monica leave.

 _"If you love us, any of us, in any way, you'll leave Liam. Take your girlfriend, get in your truck, and never come back."_ That's what Fiona had said. And that's what Monica had done, leaving Ian with the knowledge that the man he had called Dad - however spitefully or reluctantly - was not actually his father. The DNA test had said that it was one of Frank's brothers. Monica hadn't exactly been clear on which one.

Lip had been obsessed with finding Ian's real father; Ian didn't give a shit. One Gallagher was as bad as another.

They'd narrowed him down though, or at least they thought so. Their Uncle Clayton, a tall, gangly, freckled redhead who had given Ian his middle name and possibly some DNA on the side.

Another low-pitched moan from Mickey brought Ian's attention back to what he was doing. He scraped his nails up Mickey's spine, relishing Mickey's shiver of pleasure. He liked the fact that he was getting to know what turned the older boy on; enjoyed figuring out what got him going, what made him release those deep, shuddering moans that made Ian's prick tingle.

They'd fucked half a dozen times in the last few weeks, and each time Ian felt like he was finding out a new secret about Mickey Milkovich.

He didn't like being kissed, apparently. Ian had found that out the very first time they had fucked, after his dad had nearly caught them; he'd only moved about an inch towards Mickey's face when the other boy shoved him away.

_"Kiss me and I'll cut your fucking tongue out."_

Ian hadn't tried to kiss him after that.

He didn't like fucking face-to-face. Ian had tried flipping him once, but he'd been having none of it, firmly turning back over to point his ass in the air. Ian thought that this one might've been related to the kissing thing - like he was afraid Ian would try it on if their mouths were in too close proximity. He hadn't tried that one again either.

He didn't like Ian getting too chatty. Ian was used to talking to the guy he was doing - usually during the post-coital smoke that he and Mickey had taken to sharing. But Mickey had made it pretty clear that he wasn't interested in hearing it.

_"You wanna chit-chat or you wanna get on me?"_

As it had turned out, Ian had wanted to get on him. But he hadn't given up on the idea that at some point Mickey wouldn't feel the need to end every conversation after sex that way.

So maybe all Ian had done was to figure out a bunch of things Mickey didn't like. A bunch of lines he'd firmly drawn around himself. But it still felt like more than most people got to see.

And anyway, Ian would have pretty much jumped through any hoop for the way it felt to fuck Mickey Milkovich.

With a gasp, he came; he reached around Mickey's body to jerk the older boy off as he spilled into him, and they came together in a breathtaking rush.

"Fuck, Gallagher," Mickey panted, collapsing against the shelving.

Ian slid out of him, practically falling onto a pile of boxes pushed up against the wall that he happened to know contained tins that wouldn't buckle under his weight. He sat down heavily on the boxes, the flies of his jeans still gaping open. Mickey, who was zipping up his own pants, looked over at Ian's cock - dripping and soft - with an amused smirk. Like he was proud of himself.

Which he probably was. That was another thing Ian had come to realise about Mickey; he loved seeing Ian in the blissful fucked-out state he was always left in after the older boy was done with him. Ian had wondered a few times if Mickey had ever actually been with a guy before; the pleasure he took in knowing he was the one to make Ian come was almost childish in its simplicity.

But then, neither of them were much older than children, really. It was only in the Southside that fifteen seemed like an adult age to get to.

"Gatorade?" Mickey asked, rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb. Ian frowned at him.

Mickey held up a couple of bottles of the energy drink by way of explanation.

Ian didn't bother replying, holding up his hand; Mickey threw the drink over, and he caught it, popping the cap and chugging back half the bottle in one go.

"Thirsty, huh?" Mickey said, a note of pride in his voice.

Ian grinned up at him. "Tired out, man," he said, enjoying the smile that spread across Mickey's face as a result of his words.

Mickey shrugged one shoulder. "We can go slower if you can't keep up," he said tauntingly.

Ian, recognising the challenge, sprang to his feet, laughingly showing his fists. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, tough guy," Mickey said, pushing away from the shelves; he flexed his arm, and a muscle twitched. So did Ian's cock.

Mickey, who missed nothing, laughed. "You working tonight?"

Which was his way of asking if Ian was down to fuck again later. He practically salivated at the thought.

Unfortunately, however, he was actually busy, and his mouth turned involuntarily down in the corners at the thought of what he was supposed to be doing. "Nah. Driving Northside with Lip."

Mickey raised his eyebrows. "The fuck are you going Northside?"

Ian sighed. "My uncle lives up that way. Might be my real dad."

"Thought Frank was your dad," Mickey said.

He shrugged. "Yeah, me too," he said. "Lip and I took DNA tests. Monica fucked Frank's brother." He waited a couple of beats, in case Mickey wanted to comment; apparently he didn't, shifting from foot to foot without looking at Ian but not looking totally disinterested either. Ian went on, "We went to see Grammy in prison to find out where Frank's brothers were. One of them shoved a gun under our noses soon as we said we were Frank's kids. The other one lives Northside. Uncle Clayton."

"Don't know why you care, man," Mickey said,

"I don't," Ian replied. "Lip's the one that wants to know. I guess I'm just tagging along."

Mickey appeared to consider this. "You scamming him?"

"Nah," Ian said. "Just want to meet my real dad."

The other boy scratched his head. "Why?"

It was a simple enough question, and it was fairly probable that Mickey didn't mean it as anything other than a sarcastic comment. But it actually left Ian stumped. Because he really didn't know the answer.

When it became clear Ian wasn't going to respond, Mickey said with a bored kind of shrug: "You going to go live up there with him?"

"No fucking way," Ian said emphatically.

A sly smile appeared on Mickey's face. "You sure, man? Rich fuck buying you whatever you want... Kind of like you and towelhead, huh?"

"Fuck off," Ian said without heat.

"You going to tell me what that was all about?" Mickey asked. 

"I'm into married guys," Ian deadpanned.

Mickey snorted. "He's the best you can get?"

"His wife didn't think so," Ian replied without thinking. Mickey's eyebrows shot into his hairline.

"Bitch knew?"

Ian shrugged. "She found out."

Mickey laughed unexpectedly. "Didn't fire your ass? Bitch must be desperate."

"Sure she is," Ian smirked. "She hired you."

Mickey sprang forward, dropping his now-empty Gatorade bottle; he grabbed Ian in a headlock, wrestling him to the floor. Ian, never one to take a fight - even a fake one - lying down, twisted out of the other boy's grip and grasped his upper arms, pushing him over onto his back. For a second, Mickey didn't move; for a second, he just met Ian's gaze. Then the moment was over, and he flipped Ian over to shove him up against the boxes.

"Asshole," Ian said, but he was smiling.

Mickey gave an unrepentant grin. "You ready to go again or you need some time?" The look he gave Ian was a challenge.

As Ian was rarely  _not_ ready to go when it came to Mickey, it was deliciously easy to rise to Mickey's dare, pushing the other boy around until he was bent in the familiar position over the shelves. Mickey's tongue was sticking out of the corner of his mouth in a cheeky, inviting way that Ian had come to recognise and relish.  _This_ was why he like Mickey; this easy banter and camaraderie, the change in Mickey's posture that showed that he was completely relaxed, the joking light-hearted repartee that nobody would ever have guessed Mickey was capable of.

He gripped Mickey's hips so tightly that there would be handprint-shaped bruises there when he was finished. He remembered wishing that Kash would get a bit rougher with him, back when they'd been together; with Mickey, he would never, ever need to wish for that. Mickey  _liked_ it rough.

Because that was the other thing that Ian had figured out about Mickey over the weeks that they'd been fucking. Mickey liked it hard and rough and fast, and he grunted in frustration if Ian tried fucking him gently, gasping out an order to _"Just fucking fuck me, Gallagher!"_

Ian was more than happy to oblige.

Now, however, for some fucked up reason he kind of felt like winding Mickey up. He ran his fingers lightly up the other boy's spine, pressing his dick against him but not actually getting inside. Mickey groaned. Ian grinned.

He snaked an arm around Mickey's slim hips, gripping his cock and feeling it twitch maddeningly in his hand. His own cock stiffened just from the feel of it, pulsing against Mickey's opening. 

Mickey moaned again, and the sound was fucking intoxicating.

Slowly, Ian slid his hand up and down Mickey's cock, eliciting more groans from the older boy. He slipped his free hand up Mickey's back and along his arm to where his tattooed knuckles were clenched around the edge of the shelf; determinedly, he locked his fingers in between Mickey's.

It wasn't like he got to hold his hand in the regular way.

Mickey was obviously getting frustrated; he rocked his hips backwards against Ian, his moans becoming fiercer. "You fucking knitting back there, Gallagher?"

Ian spluttered with laughter. "Knitting?"

Mickey's mouth opened with what was undoubtedly a crushing come-back, but just as he was about to deliver it Ian increased the pace of his hand, and whatever Mickey had been going to say was lost in a strangled stutter.

Feeling the other boy about to come, Ian slowed down again, pressing his thumb at the base of Mickey's cock; the other boy actually  _growled_ in frustration. "You fucker!"

Ian reflected that even if he did have to spend the afternoon finding his real father, at least he would leave Southside in a good mood.

*

Ian had left Clayton's house almost as soon as they'd arrived. Clayton's wife - some uptight Northside bitch - had made it pretty clear that not only did she know exactly who Ian was, but that he couldn't be more unwelcome. And Clayton - he'd just stood there. Stood in the doorway to his posh house watching Lip trying to talk Ian into getting to know his real father, and said nothing.

He had known Ian was his son, and he'd done nothing.

Ian really wasn't interested in acquiring any more disappointing parents.

 _"I'm happy with who we are. Even if you're not."_ Lip hadn't really had anything to say to that, watching him walk back to the car without speaking. Now they were speeding down the highway, Ian staring out the window and trying to ignore his brother's constant flickering glances.

He knew Lip was gearing up to talk to him; he just didn't really know what to say. How to react to what had happened.

When his brother spoke, however, it was such an unexpected subject change that Ian was reminded forcefully of Mickey.

"You still banging that chick?"

Ian blinked. "Uh... yeah. Kind of."

Lip snorted. "Kind of?"

"Yeah, I'm still banging... her." Ian bit his lip. He had trouble even using the female pronoun.

"What about Mandy?" Lip asked.

Ian's head dropped. He felt fucking awful about Mandy.

She'd been nothing but happy the last few weeks, obviously attributing Ian's constant delirious good mood to his relationship with her. Ian clearly had a talent for helping Milkoviches to feel relaxed, because she'd been way calmer than usual, more confident without trying to impress anyone. Like he made her feel so good about herself that she didn't have anything to prove.

And it made her so fucking fantastic to be around. Ian had never had anyone, other than Lip, that he could talk to the way he could to Mandy. She was funny and interesting, and had a refreshingly quirky perspective that made Ian constantly fascinated by what she would come up with next. She was loyal and caring - she'd been researching West Point, just because she knew he wanted to go there, and initiated multiple discussions about his future, pushing him to train and study so he could get where he wanted to go. She was fierce and funny, and the two of them were often to be found in gales of laughter over some shit or other, usually with a joint in hand.

She was his best friend.

And he was lying to her.

He didn't like to think about just how completely torn apart, how betrayed she would feel if she found out he was doing Mickey. It was disloyalty on so many levels; lying to her about who he was, lying to her about how he felt, and doing all that lying with her brother, one of the few people he knew she trusted. He remembered the tightness in her voice, the hard hurt expression in her eyes, when they'd fought more than a month ago; that hadn't even been about anything real. Just imagining how she would look, how she would feel, if she discovered the truth... Ian bit down hard on his bottom lip.

"Ian?" Lip looked concerned; Ian gave a half-hearted smile.

"I don't like it," he said.

"So tell her," Lip said. "I'll help you fend off the Milkovich brothers." He grimaced a little at the idea, but Ian knew his brother was serious.

Ian half-grinned at the thought of the quandary Mickey would be in if Mandy asked him to beat Ian up. Or maybe it wouldn't _be_ a quandary for Mickey; he'd probably just do it. And then come to the store the next day expecting to fuck.

And Ian would probably fuck him.

Mickey hadn't mentioned Mandy once since they started fucking. Ian suspected the other boy didn't feel any better about it than he did; usually he beat up guys that hurt his sister. He wasn't usually the one doing the hurting.

But if he felt anything like Ian did, whatever was between the two of them was too electric, too fucking amazing, to stop.

"I don't want to break up with Mandy," Ian said now to Lip. "She's my best friend."

Lip raised an eyebrow. "She's your girlfriend, not your friend."

"She feels more like a friend," Ian admitted.

Lip considered this. "Talk to her," he suggested. "You guys could be like me and Karen."

Ian gave him a disgusted look. "No fucking way," he said flatly. "You and Karen are fucking sick, man."

His brother laughed, not offended in the least. "Friends that bang, nothing wrong with that," he said cheerfully. "That's what you want, right?"

Ian's teeth came down so hard on his lower lip he thought he might draw blood. He mumbled: "We're not banging."

"Huh?" Lip said.

Ian cleared his throat. "We're not banging."

Lip snorted. "Seriously?"

That was when they heard the siren.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhhh I can't believe how long this has taken me! The only excuse I have is that I've been ill this week... but it's finally here. I pinky promise not to take so long with the next chapter. I'm pulling back the canon scenes, so that's why I've skipped all the Clayton drama - plus it's boring to write, in my opinion. Comments and concric are as always not only appreciated but cherished and treasured :)
> 
> Please let me know if anyone seems OOC as I've worked super-hard on that with this chapter!


	14. Was That So Bad?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's only one way to celebrate being released from police custody - some good old-fashioned fucking!

"So?" Fiona was looking as hard as nails; her expression kind of reminded Ian of Mandy.

"Sorry, Fiona," he muttered, looking down at his hands. He and Lip had spent the night at the police station, cuffed to a bench and refusing to answer questions, until Tony - the police officer with a massive crush on Fiona - managed to get them off. Now he was sat on the edge of his bed with his sister beside him ready to explode.

"It was stupid," she said fiercely. "Could have ended up in prison."

Ian nodded in agreement, head back down. It had been stupid.

"Where'd you get the stolen car?" Fiona asked. Ian's glance flicked up reflexively to the door; she sighed. "Lip's not here, okay, I'm asking you," she said aggressively. She hesitated. "Was it from Steve?"

Ian bit his lip; Fiona stood up with a sigh, obviously not needing him to respond. Knowing that her boyfriend was the one to get her brothers arrested must be three thousand kinds of tricky for her.

As she reached the door, Ian said suddenly: "Hey, Fiona?"

She turned back to him, and he looked up at her. At the sister who had been nothing but supportive, and caring, and  _good_ to him his whole life. The sister who deserved to know the truth about who he was.

"I'm gay," he said in a low voice. He realised as he was saying it that it was the first time he had ever said it out loud.

And it felt good to be honest.

She was looking at him with an expression he couldn't pinpoint; surprise, sadness, sympathy, and maybe even pride. She said: "I know."

Ian stared at her. "You do?" He hesitated. "Lip doesn't."

She sighed. "I won't tell him," she said. Her expression hardened, and she glared at him. "You're still on my shit list."

*

It was late afternoon, and Ian was sitting under the railway bridge with the pleasant hum of being drunk running through his body. He'd originally brought Lip out with a case of beer to help him forget that Karen - weird, twisted Karen with black hair and a tattoo bearing the word WHORE on her arm - had dumped him, but then Mandy had found him and she'd brought vodka and three of her brothers to join the party. One of those brothers was Mickey.

It was very, very strange being around Mandy and Mickey at the same time. He'd deliberately avoided this situation ever since he and Mickey started banging. The other boy hadn't said two words to him, opting instead to steadily drink himself into oblivion with Iggy - who was the most horrendously irritating drunk in history - and Joey, a brother that Ian hadn't met up until now. He was as pale as any of the Milkoviches, with floppy blonde curls and a weak chin. He looked about Ian's age, but he was actually almost twenty. He was the one, according to Mickey, who'd fallen for Karen himself.

"Fuck her," Lip slurred.

"Screw her," Iggy agreed. "Bitch crazy."

"Fuck her  _hard_ ," Lip said. Ian decided to leave them to it.

He moved over to where Mandy was grinning idiotically into her bottle of vodka, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "You alright?” he asked.

Maybe he was drunker than he’d thought.

She leaned into his arm. “Yeah,” she said. “Lip okay?”

Ian shrugged. “Not really.”

“That fucking skank,” Joey said. He spat unexpectedly on the ground.

“Christ, you lot are pussies,” Mickey muttered. Ian’s head spun around to look at him so fast he thought he might give himself whiplash; Mandy, who was knocked off his shoulder by the motion, frowned up at him.

“Shut up, man,” Joey grumbled.

“You gonna get your pants in a wad over some bitch?” Mickey pressed. Joey flipped him off; Ian just grinned stupidly at him. Mickey’s glance fell on him, and he frowned. “The fuck you looking at, Gallagher?”

Ian, not in the least intimidated, smiled a little wider. He kind of liked how much this freaked Mickey out. “You got any more beers over there?”

Mickey’s teeth fell onto his bottom lip, chewing it in the familiar way that made Ian’s cock twitch in his pants. At last he reached out for a can, his tattooed hand closing around it so tight that his knuckles whitened. He threw it at Ian with some force.

“Thanks,” Ian said, his eyes still on the other boy. The beer fizzed over the top when he opened it, undoubtedly as a result of being tossed about; Ian coughed as he licked bubbles from around his mouth and chin, his tongue flicking across his lips.

Mickey stood up abruptly.

“Where you going?” Joey said in a surprised tone.

Mickey rattled the empty can in his hand. “Beer run,” he said.

“You want some help?” Ian said casually.

Mickey looked down at him, shrugging. “Whatever, Gallagher.”

Ian took that as permission, ignoring Mandy’s irritated sigh as he scrambled to his feet. He had to practically jog to keep up with Mickey, who was already striding away so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet.

“Slow down,” Ian puffed as soon as they were out of sight of the railway bridge. Mickey ignored him, as he had known he would. Ian grinned. “Anyone home at yours?”

And just as Ian had known it would be, that was enough to make Mickey halt abruptly in his tracks. “The fuck, Gallagher?”

Ian shrugged nonchalantly. “Heard you say Tony and Jamie were on a run with your dad.” Mickey blinked at him, and Ian punched him playfully in the arm. “Come on, man, I spent the night in jail.”

“You are an unbelievable pussy,” Mickey said, but he altered his course anyway. To the Milkovich house.

Exactly eight minutes later, Ian was shirtless, his pants around his ankles, easing in and out of Mickey’s delicious ass like he’d never been away.

Clayton who?

*

It was nearly two in the morning by the time Ian fell into Mandy’s bed. Lip had gone home, but Mandy had dragged Ian back to the Milkoviches. Not that Ian had needed much dragging; one look into Mickey’s unfathomable blue eyes had been enough to make his mind up for him.

Mandy was so far gone she didn’t even try to take her clothes off. She snuggled into his bare chest – he’d managed to hover in her doorway while he took off his shirt, conscious of Mickey’s eyes on him – and fell asleep almost immediately.

Ian lay awake with his eyes wide open, his hand running automatically through her dark hair. He was thinking about Mickey – the feel of Mickey, the look of him, the glint in his eyes as he watched Ian follow Mandy to bed. Mickey was somewhere in this house, maybe sleeping, almost certainly shirtless. Alone in a dark room, just waiting for Ian to slide out of bed and go find him.

Which of course was exactly what he did. He waited twenty minutes or so, just to be sure Mandy was definitely asleep, and then slipped out of her room and down the hall, past Terry’s inert form slumbering face-down on the sofa and into Mickey’s bedroom.

Mickey shuddered awake as Ian climbed into bed beside him. “The fuck?” he mumbled.

Ian didn’t say anything, reaching down under the covers to grip Mickey’s cock.

“Get the fuck off me!” Mickey said violently, shaking his whole body in order to dislodge Ian’s hand.

“Shut the fuck up, Mickey,” Ian said softly, easing his hand up and down. Mickey tensed underneath him, but he didn’t try to shake Ian off again. Ian could see his eyes glinting in the dim room, staring straight up at the ceiling. He picked up the pace, jerking Mickey off faster and faster until the other boy’s breaths were coming in short pants.

“Gallagher…” Mickey’s voice was barely more than a whine. Ian, his grin so wide it practically touched his ears, dropped his mouth down to the older boy’s cock, his tongue flicking out to graze the tip. Mickey gave out a low growl.

Ian’s hands pressed down hard into Mickey’s hipbones as he dipped lower, sucking his cock into his mouth. He licked the shaft, relishing the soft moans that Mickey would never admit to producing. He felt Mickey’s fingers grasping his hair, tugging it almost painfully as Ian ran his tongue down the other boy’s pulsing prick.

Abruptly, Ian released Mickey’s cock, letting it fall out of his mouth. Ignoring Mickey’s irritated expletive, he pressed his lips to the older boy’s hipbone, nibbling the skin slightly with his teeth. Mickey’s back arched in response; Ian moved a little higher up the other boy, kissing and nipping his chest as he came closer and closer to Mickey’s face. He pushed one knee in between Mickey’s legs, grinding his thigh against Mickey’s dick.

Mickey was groaning and shifting underneath him, his eyes closed and his fists clenched in Ian’s hair. Ian’s heart was beating hard as his mouth closed on Mickey’s collarbone; he kissed his way up the older boy’s neck, his teeth grazing Mickey’s chin as he approached the mouth that he had so far been forbidden to touch.

Ian had never been very good at following rules.

For once, Mickey didn’t seem like he was about to throw Ian off; clearly distracted by the throbbing red spots marking a trail up his body, he was actually arching into the younger boy’s touch – almost as though he _wanted_ Ian to kiss him.

And maybe he did, but Ian would never know, because at the exact moment he bent his head to Mickey’s mouth, there came a loud _thump_ from somewhere in the house, and Mickey reflexively shoved Ian away before their lips could so much as brush.

“It’s probably just someone using the bathroom,” Ian said.

“The bathroom is through here, dickwad!” Mickey said, his voice panicked. “Get the fuck out!”

And Ian found himself unceremoniously thrown to the floor. He stood up slowly, grateful that he was still wearing boxers; if someone _did_ walk in, he could at least attempt to hide his hard-on.

“The fuck, man?” Mickey exclaimed. He was sitting up in bed, the covers pulled right up to his neck. “Get out!”

Ian sighed; just then, there was the crash of a slamming door, and Mickey’s wide eyes shot straight to the entrance to the room. Ian stayed rooted in place, tensed to run; as much as he’d like to stay and fuck Mickey senseless, he wasn’t stupid enough to think that Mickey’s fear of Terry was anything other than utterly justified.

There was a strange noise – like maybe a laugh or a cough or a cry – and then there was nothing but silence. Ian looked back at Mickey, and felt his shoulders relax at the relieved expression on the other boy’s face.

“Just my dad going to bed,” Mickey said with an embarrassed kind of shrug. Ian grinned stupidly, diving back over to the bed.

Any idea he might have had, however, of picking up where he had left off at Mickey’s mouth was quickly shot right out of the water; Mickey had already flipped over by the time he got to him, presenting Ian with the delicious view of his bare ass quivering in the moonlight coming in from the window. Ian ran his hands up Mickey’s thighs, pinching his ass and smiling at the shuddering moan he drew from the other boy.

He bent forward to touch his tongue to Mickey’s hole, and was rewarded by a sharp intake of breath. His tongue flicked inside and out again, and impulsively he bit down on one of Mickey’s cheeks. Mickey’s resulting groan was nothing short of exquisite.

Well, it wasn’t like he hadn’t _known_ Mickey liked it rough.

He licked Mickey’s hole again, pushing the older boy forwards until he was crumpled up by the wall. When he felt like he was lubricated enough, Ian slid a finger inside Mickey’s ass, reaching in until he felt the deep vibrations through Mickey’s body that told him he’d found his prostate. He pulled his finger out again, suppressing the chuckle that bubbled up when Mickey thrust his ass up in protest; he pushed two fingers inside, stretching the older boy out and grazing past his prostate again.

“Fuck, Gallagher!” Mickey moaned.

Ian pulled his fingers out again, reaching down to grip his own dick. He was hard as rock. He pressed his tip up against Mickey’s ass, grinning as the other boy pushed right back against him; easing inside Mickey’s hole, he deliberately pushed in slowly, knowing he was driving Mickey crazy.

“Would you just--?” Mickey exclaimed frustratedly, bucking ineffectually in an attempt to get Ian to pick up the pace. Ian, ignoring this, continued thrusting in and out evenly, feeling himself stiffen impossibly.

“Fucking… fuck me!”

Ian squeezed his hands around Mickey’s hips, and the other boy moaned. He scraped his nails up Mickey’s spine, leaving deep red scratches that would take a while to fade. He kind of liked the idea of marking Mickey, like leaving some kind of tangible expression on the other boy might make what they were doing into something different than what it was.

He wondered if fucking Mickey slowly enough might make him want to kiss him. Or call him by his first name.

He wondered if Mickey even knew his first name.

“Gallagher!” Mickey barked, bringing Ian’s attention back to the present moment. Pushing away the stupid thoughts – because they _were_ fucking stupid – Ian eased out of Mickey again, reaching his hand up Mickey’s back to grasp his shoulder. Then, just as the tension was getting too much to bear, he _slammed_ into Mickey with such force that the other boy crashed into the wall.

Ian didn’t give Mickey any time to recover from the onslaught, driving into him again and again with the same momentum. Mickey’s head and shoulders were hitting the wall over and over with such impetus that he’d likely have bruises all over him.

Ian didn’t care. He pounded into Mickey with all his strength, faster and faster as he felt his orgasm building in his abdomen. Mickey was grunting as he was hammered into the wall, his knuckles white where his fists were clenched on the bedcovers.

“I’m coming,” Ian gasped. “Are you--?”

A cursory glance at the bed showed him that Mickey hadn’t come yet; Ian started to slow down. He wanted Mickey to come with him.

“What the fuck!” Mickey said, clearly violently opposing any reduction in pace; Ian managed, with some difficulty, to release Mickey’s hip, reaching around to grip the other boy’s cock.

He barely even touched it when he felt Mickey’s release thundering through his whole body; Mickey let out a low, soft moan as he came that had Ian spurting into the other boy’s ass, falling in a sweaty heap on top of him as they came together.

Panting, the two boys collapsed into the bed, Mickey crumpled in the foetal position and Ian stretched out on his back, drawing in deep shuddering breaths.

“Shit,” Ian huffed. “That was… fuck!”

“Shut up, man,” Mickey muttered.

Which meant it had been fucking amazing for him too.

Ian didn’t know how long they lay there, catching their breath, recovering from what may have been the best sex he had ever had; eventually, he became aware that Mickey was stretched out beside him, and that the sky outside was beginning to lighten.

“Get the fuck out, Gallagher,” Mickey said, but his voice was sleepy rather than aggressive. Ian, recognising the dismissal, rolled off the bed, tugging on a random pair of boxers – his, Mickey’s, right then he wouldn’t have been able to tell – and looking down at the older boy in his post-coital glow.

“Shit, Mickey,” he laughed. Mickey’s eyes popped open instantly.

“What?” he said hostilely. “ _What_?”

Ian bit his lip; he honestly didn’t know if Mickey would be pissed or amused. “Look at your chest, man.”

Mickey looked down at his body, a frown creasing his forehead. His chest was dotted with red marks and the indentations of Ian’s teeth, running in an uneven trail from his abdomen to his collar bone. There were deep, handprint-shaped bruises on his hips, and dark welts lined his thighs where Ian had scratched into him. He couldn’t even see the extent of the damage; Ian could see bruises beginning to form on the tops of his shoulders where he had hit the wall repeatedly, and a large purple lump had already risen on the side of his forehead. His back was a maze of crisscrossing red lines from Ian’s nails, interspersed with thumbprint-sized bruises running up his spine. Ian didn’t even want to know what his ass looked like.

Actually, that was a lie. Ian totally wanted to know what his ass looked like.

Mickey, obviously deciding that he wasn’t getting a good enough view, slid out of bed and padded into the bathroom to look in the mirror. After a minute, Ian heard his low-voiced curse.

“The fuck you do to me, Gallagher?” he asked, coming back into the bedroom. His voice was belligerent, but he was wearing a massive grin of a kind that Ian had never seen before. It kind of lit up his entire face, and Ian couldn’t figure out why.

“You fucking like it,” Ian said with a laugh. Mickey bit his lip somewhat suggestively, the smile still on his face. There was still something about him that was completely different, and Ian still couldn’t work out what it was.

“Fuck off,” Mickey said, and this time his tone was practically friendly.

Ian, still laughing, obeyed. He didn’t go for a kiss; he didn’t want to ruin the moment. Checking briefly that the coast was clear – it was – he ran back up the hall to Mandy’s room, silently turning the handle and sliding inside.

“Where’ve you been?” Mandy’s voice was accusatory; Ian turned around with a jump.

She was not only awake, but standing beside her bed with a pillow clutched in her arms, her skinny white legs protruding out of the long white t-shirt she was wearing. Her hair was a dark mess cascading over her shoulders, and her mascara had smudged down her cheeks.

“Bathroom,” Ian said. He frowned down at the bed; the duvet cover was different, and one of the pillows didn’t have a cover on it at all. “Are you changing the sheets?”

She shrugged defensively. “Spilled beer on them,” she said. “That was a fucking long bathroom break.”

“How long have you been awake?” Ian asked.

She shrugged again. “A while. Where the fuck have you _been_?”

Ian bit his lip. “Had a smoke with Mickey,” he said. It was the first thing he could think of.

“Outside?” she asked. Ian nodded.

She seemed to relax then; he wondered idly what she’d thought he was doing. “Okay,” she said in a small voice. She turned back to the bed, putting the last pillowcase on so quickly that Ian barely had time to stride over to her before it was done.

“You okay?” he asked. She didn't _look_ okay; she was shivering as she clambered back into bed.

She pulled him down beside her, nestling her head into his collarbone. “Yeah,” she said in a muffled voice.

“Hey,” he said, pulling back. “Seriously, Mands, you okay?”

“Don’t feel so good,” she admitted.

He tucked her back under his chin, stroking her hair. He wanted to look after her, to take care of her, to protect her.

He just didn't want to fuck her.

Was that so bad?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just not even going to bother giving excuses for why this has taken so long. I'm sorry. Please forgive me!
> 
> This is pure, full-on smut, which is not something I'm particularly used to writing, so if it's cringy and awkward instead of hot like it's supposed to be then I apologise! Concric is particularly appreciated as I'm sure there's more smut to come (come on, it's Gallavich, of course there's more smut to come!) and I want to get it right!
> 
> Warm waves of wordless love to all the wonderful comments - they are my motivation!
> 
> Question of the week: since we have now reached the end of Season 1 in canon time, should this fic continue with completely new chapters over the spring between Seasons 1 and 2, or should I skip straight to the beginning of the next season? I do have a few ideas for a continuation, but I am still a faithful canon follower!


	15. Please Save Me From The Sharks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mandy is not okay. Ian doesn't know why. Fiona is not okay. Ian knows why, but he doesn't know what to do.

Sometime during that next week Ian figured out what had been different about Mickey’s smile that night.

He figured it out because he ended up spending a lot of time over at the Milkoviches that week. And it was when he was curled up on the couch with Mandy – whose level of clinginess had reached a new high, with her hardly able to settle without his arms around her – watching movies or playing video games, watching Mickey sprawled in a nearby armchair, that he worked it out.

It had been the first smile that had ever reached his eyes.

Because Mickey didn’t smile very often. And even when he did, it was a strange curve of his lips that left his blue eyes hollow and untouched. Like he was deciding to smile, but never really felt it.

Until that night. Until that beautiful fucking smile that he’d given Ian after he saw the marks on his body, the not-so-subtle claim Ian had left on him. That had been a real smile.

And Ian had got to see it.

He felt pretty damn lucky.

He shifted a little on the couch. Mandy was heavy in his arms, pressing almost painfully against his chest as they watched some shitty movie over at the Gallaghers. He frowned. He was actually kind of worried about Mandy; she’d been acting kind of weird ever since the night he’d stayed over at hers.

For one thing, she’d insisted on him staying over every night since then.

For another, she currently had one hand inserted under his shirt with her nails clenched into his chest. She was clutching him so tightly that Ian was actually wincing underneath her; it wasn’t the first time that week that she’d held on to him like that. He was used to her being affectionate, but her level of touchy-feely had escalated ridiculously.

Like she was using his body to save her from drowning.

She was quieter than normal, the usual whip-sharp smart-ass comments replaced by deep sighs and melancholy silences. When she did speak, she was overly touchy and defensive, and every so often she would randomly tense in Ian’s embrace, all her muscles bunching together like she was contracting into herself. Like she wanted to make her body as small as it could possibly be.

Ian was officially worried. He’d asked her repeatedly what was wrong, but she insisted that everything was fine, and got pissed off when he kept asking.

_“I said it was nothing! Leave me the fuck alone, Gallagher.”_

It was strange how both the Milkovich siblings liked to address him by his last name. Except that when Mickey did it, it was his version of affection, and when Mandy did it, it meant she was pissed.

Ian looked up as Lip swung down the stairs into the living room. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Lip replied. “You guys alright?” He hopped over the back of the sofa to sit on the other side of Mandy; she huddled even closer into Ian.

“Yeah,” Ian said. “How’s Fiona?”

Because of course Mandy was not the only person that he had to worry about. It had been that same night – maybe even as he was pumping delightfully into Mickey – that Jimmy had asked Fiona to come with him to Costa Rica. To abandon her family and flee the country with him, because his stolen cars had finally caught up with him.

Lip had told her to go. Ian understood why he’d done it, because he loved his sister just as much, but unlike Lip, he wouldn’t have bothered trying to persuade her. He knew Fiona. He knew the level of responsibility she felt towards her family.

She was never going to leave.

She’d got as far as the bus station, though. She’d packed a bag, told them all she was going, hugged each of them tearfully and set off. Leaving Debs wrapped in Lip’s arms in floods of tears while Carl sniffled in a corner and Kev and Vee hovered in the kitchen trying to be useful.

Ian had been the only one who had been dry-eyed.

He’d known she wasn’t going anywhere.

So when she came back, four hours later, unpacking her bag with an expression that dared anyone to ask her why, Ian was the only one who wasn’t surprised.

Lip sighed. “Still fucked up,” he said.

For the past five days, Fiona had been rushing around like a crazy person, like she was scared to stand still for so much as a second. Her excuse was that she’d just started working as a temp at Hal’s accountant’s office – with a nudge from Jasmine, obviously – but they all knew she was just trying desperately not to think about Jimmy leaving.

Weird enough finding out he was operating under an assumed identity. Losing him might just have tipped her over the edge.

Ian could still remember a conversation he’d had with his older sister, seven or eight months ago now. It had been late one night and he’d been in one of the general kinds of bad moods that anyone living with a shithead like Frank would experience every now and again.

_“He hates me,”_ he’d said to Fiona, looking down at his father’s inert body on the floor.

And Fiona, even though she’d been tired and sad and not in the mood to deal with anyone’s shit but her own, had given him a warm smile and somehow made things okay.

It had hit him then, the same way it did now, that she was stretched so thin she was practically invisible. She had to be everything for everyone; mother, father, sister, carer, earner, protector. So he’d said: _“You must get sick of having to think for everybody.”_

She’d laughed, in a half-hearted kind of way that told him he’d struck a nerve. _“Well, at least I can. Proves I’m wanted.”_ Like they wouldn’t want her, _need_ her, if she didn’t take care of them.

 It had seemed crazy to Ian back then, and he’d told her so. Told her that being wanted wasn’t something to aim for; Frank, an endless pit of need, would always want her, always take whatever he could get from her.

It made a bit more sense to him now though. Now that she was the one struggling, and none of them had any fucking idea how to help her.

It would have been nice to feel like she needed them. But she didn’t. The only person who could help her was Jimmy, and he was gone.

Ian didn’t bother saying any of this. It wasn’t anything Lip didn’t already know. Instead he said: “Karen?”

Lip shrugged. He knew how Ian felt about Karen. “Back to being blonde,” he said.

“Skank,” Mandy said unexpectedly. Both boys turned to look at her; her face was still buried in Ian’s chest, and if he hadn’t heard it Ian almost wouldn’t have believed she’d spoken at all.

Lip gave Ian a questioning look; Ian shrugged. He couldn’t even begin to understand what was up with Mandy right now.

“You, uh, don’t like her?” Lip asked.

“What’s to like?” There was a nasty edge to Mandy’s voice. She sat up slightly, turning to look at Lip. “You know what, I just don’t get what it is about her that makes every guy want to get in her pants.”

“You know, every guy wants to get in _your_ pants,” Lip pointed out crudely.

“Hey,” Ian said. Lip gave a quick apologetic shrug, but Mandy didn’t seem bothered.

“She’s just a boring whore,” she said. “Her dad called it. You’re after her… Joey was half in love with her, the stupid fuck – even Mickey asked her out.”

Ian sat up straighter. “Mickey asked Karen out?”

Mandy gave a bitter kind of laugh. “Yeah, like two years ago. She pretty much laughed in his face.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Lip deadpanned; Ian sank back into the sofa again.

The last thing he wanted to do was make it seem like he might have an answer to that question.

Lip was still looking oddly at Mandy. “You, uh, okay, Mandy?”

“God, I’m fucking fine!” she spat, inexplicably viciously. She sprang suddenly to her feet. “I’m going home,” she said, giving Ian a pointed look.

“Uh, okay,” he said uncertainly. “See you tomorrow.”

Her eyes widened angrily, and she flounced away, slamming the front door behind her with some force. Both Lip and Ian watched her in surprise.

Lip rolled his eyes. “Think she wanted you to go with her, man.”

“Oh,” Ian said lamely.

“Did you tell her about the other chick?” his brother asked.

“What? Fuck, no.”

Lip shrugged. “Figured that would explain why she’s so pissy.”

Ian, his eyes still on the front door, which was still trembling from the force of being banged shut, said slowly: “Something’s going on with her… don’t have a fucking clue what it is.”

“Maybe she wants you to fuck her,” Lip said. “You guys still not banging?”

Ian dropped his head. “Shut up, man,” he said. “It’s not like that.”

“Not like what?” Lip asked. “Not like you’re getting your kicks from some other girl and got none left for her? Sure _sounds_ like that.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ian said dismissively.

Lip sighed. “Probably not,” he agreed. “You don’t fucking talk to me any more, man.”

Ian didn’t say anything. What could he say? But in his head a small list of names swirled around.

Roger. Kash. Linda. Mickey. Fiona. Five names; the only five people in the world who knew he was gay.

And then there was another list: Lip. Mickey. Mandy. The three most important people in his life.

How was it that only _one_ of those three knew the truth?

*

Maybe Ian wasn’t as good at hiding his secrets as he thought, because it seemed like Mickey sussed out his preoccupation within about ten seconds of seeing him the next day at the Kash & Grab.

Or maybe it was just that Mickey never missed anything when it came to Ian.

Either way, Ian had barely started jacking Mickey off in the back room when the other boy jerked away from him; he looked up from his position crouched among the boxes that had just been delivered, startled.

“What?” he said.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you, man?” Mickey asked in an irritated kind of voice.

Ian sighed, not even trying to pretend that everything was fine. It was kind of a relief to be able to be honest with _someone_ , even if it was about something as small as _not being happy_.

If that could be considered small.

“Worried about Mandy,” he mumbled. That was only a small part of what was worrying him, but it had occurred to him that Mickey might actually be able to shed some light on whatever it was that was bugging his girlfriend.

He was a little nervous to see how Mickey would react. By some kind of unspoken mutual agreement, they never discussed Mandy.

Mickey stepped away from Ian, scratching his chin. “Gets like this sometimes,” he said in an unconcerned voice. “She’s a fucking chick, man. Aren’t they supposed to get, like, emotional or some shit?”

Ian frowned. “You think it’s like… her time of the month?” He wrinkled his nose, not really enjoying the subject.

However uncomfortable _he_ might have been with the topic, it was clear that it was far worse for Mickey; he shuddered visibly, his whole body shaking. “Whatever, man,” he said disgustedly. “There’s a reason I don’t like banging bitches.”

“Why’d you do it, then?” Ian couldn’t help himself; the question just popped out.

Mickey gave him an odd look. “Do what?”

“Bang that chick,” Ian said diffidently. “That night when I was there.”

Mickey shrugged defensively. “Why are you asking stupid fucking questions?” he said.

There was an awkward silence.

Ian didn’t really know what to say, so it was a relief when Mickey pulled one of his usual 180° subject changes. “What was eating you?”

“Huh?” Ian said, confused. Mickey waved his hand irritably. He always seemed annoyed that Ian couldn’t keep up with the twisted ways his brain worked.

“When you came here, weeks back. You said something had happened.”

He didn’t need to say _‘the day you told me you needed me’_. It wasn’t a day Ian was likely to forget.

Ian shrugged. “Monica came back,” he said.

“Your mom?”

“Yeah.”

Mickey was silent, processing this. At last he said: “She more of a screw-up than Frank?”

Ian laughed somewhat bitterly. “Tough call,” he said, “but I think so.”

The older boy appeared to consider this. “Good thing she left again, then,” he said.

“Yeah,” Ian said with feeling. “Good thing.”

Mickey’s thumb and forefinger were reaching up to his lower lip, pulling and tugging on it in the way that Ian had grown so affectionate for. He said, and his voice was just slightly hesitant: “Mandy said anything?”

It occurred to Ian that maybe Mickey wasn’t as unconcerned as he pretended.

“Gets pissed at me for asking about it,” he said.

“She gets like this sometimes,” Mickey said, almost like he was trying to convince himself. “She’s always fine after a couple weeks.” He looked over to Ian with a sudden sharp laugh. “Least I know you’re not messing with her, huh, Gallagher?”

And despite himself, Ian smiled. “Nah,” he said easily. “Her big brother would kill me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter just kind of came out of nowhere, so I'm sorry if it seems a little filler-y. It just seemed like the right time for a little introspection on Ian's part! Also, I've been listening to Glorious (awesome new Foxes album!) on repeat all day, and the songs put me in a melancholy kind of mood. So there's that.


	16. How To Panic And Never Be Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian thinks he recognises one of the customers in the store.

“Happy birthday, man! Actually legal to drive and fuck!”

“Preferably not at the same time.”

“Hey, you know Ian. He likes it a little wild.”

“Come on, Ian, blow out your fucking candles!”

“Make a wish!”

“Yeah, wish that Debs wasn’t such a _loser_.”

“Shut up, Carl!”

Ian was sitting at a table in the Alibi, a lopsided paper hat jammed on his head and the buzz of intoxication running pleasantly through him. His family – most of them as equally inebriated – were crowded around him, their excitable chatter wafting around the bar as Fiona set an enormous sticky-looking cake in front of him.

“Looks great, Fi,” Ian slurred. He lurched forwards, exhaling in the form of a burp. The candles were instantly extinguished.

“ _Awesome_ ,” Carl said.

Mandy pressed her lips against his face. It had been a fortnight since Ian had expressed his concerns about her to Mickey, and she was finally, _finally_ back to normal. It had been a stressful two weeks, but slowly her tension had appeared to dissipate, and she had stopped being quite so needy.

For that reason, if for no other, he turned to her to kiss her properly. It felt like he’d got his best friend back.

“Get a room,” Carl said disgustedly.

Kev said fondly, “Young love!”

“Cheers!” Fiona called out excitedly, waving her beer in the air. She seemed like she was a lot better now – her temp job was going well, and she was back to her usual way of behaving.

You’d have to look quite closely to see the deadness in her eyes.

The entire Gallagher clan, with the additions of Kev, Vee, Karen and Mandy, got to their feet to join the toast. Ian sat back in his chair, lazily enjoying the scene without feeling the need to participate; he just liked seeing his family happy.

“Dance with me,” Mandy said in his ear, pulling on his hand. Ian found himself on his feet without any real understanding of how he’d got there, pushing past chairs and tables with his girlfriend until he got to the small space next to the pool table at the back of the bar where some of the patrons were stumbling around in time with the music.

Mandy twined her arms around his neck, her hips rolling into him; he put his hands on her waist, sliding them up her back as he began to dance. Her fingers dug into his chest as she swayed seductively. Ian could see Lip giving him thumbs up behind Mandy’s back.

Yeah, he was the luckiest guy alive.

Ian shook his head slightly to clear it, allowing himself to drift away into the music. Dancing was one of those things for him that could make all his problems seem less important; he could just enjoy the moment, enjoy the feel of his body winding and turning, his arms up by his head, his hips rocking into Mandy’s, his feet moving in complicated patterns on the floor. Not having to think. It was blissful.

Or at least, it was blissful until some drunken fucker knocked right into the pair of them, tripping over some non-existent nothing on the ground and practically shoving Mandy out of Ian’s arms.

“Watch where you’re fucking going!” Mandy said angrily.

“Sorry, sorry,” the guy mumbled, putting his hand on Ian’s shoulder to steady himself.

And leaving it there.

“Dude, fuck off,” Ian said, as the guy leaned more heavily on him. He shook his arm, but the stranger hung on.

He was about Ian’s height, with a grey shirt and a black beanie hat jammed on his head so tight you couldn’t see his hair at all. Judging by his eyebrows, it was a darkish auburn colour. His face was pale, with a slight smattering of freckles and big dark eyes that were fixed firmly on Ian’s face.

Almost like he was scoping him out.

Ian forced himself to stay calm. This was just some drunken stranger. He didn’t know Ian was gay. It was a complete coincidence that he was staring into Ian’s eyes like he wanted to eat him for breakfast.

“Fuck off!” Mandy was saying, prying ineffectually at the stranger’s grip on Ian’s arm.

“Hey, everything okay over here?” It was Kev, coming to see the source of the commotion; looking up at the bartender blearily, the drunk seemed to come to his senses, releasing Ian’s shoulder and stepping back.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Mandy said, sliding back into Ian’s arms. She turned her back on the guy, a clear dismissal; Ian, however, watched him as he unsteadily made his way through the tables to the door.

His heart was beating hard. He was pretty sure that the stranger had been checking him out. How had he fucking known?

Or maybe Ian was paranoid, and it was all just a coincidence.

As the drunk reached the door, he turned around suddenly, and his dark eyes found Ian’s. The look he gave him then could only be described as… longing.

No, he wasn’t fucking paranoid.

If some intoxicated stranger could suss him out that easily… how much longer could he keep his secret hidden?

*

It wasn’t until two days after his birthday that Fiona decided to talk to Ian.

Honestly he’d seen this conversation coming for about three weeks; he could almost _hear_ his sister mulling it over in her mind, trying to find the right moment in a house full of chaos to initiate a chat. It probably hadn’t helped that Mandy had practically been glued to his side all that time.

He was finally getting a break, however, because Mandy really had hit her time of the month, and was home sick and absolutely adamant that he was not coming over until she was better.

In all honesty, Ian was kind of relishing a little time apart. He loved hanging out with Mandy, but it felt like the only time he’d had to himself the past three weeks was when he took a dump.

Even then you never knew when she might burst in.

So when Fiona pushed open his bedroom door with the definite sense of purpose that had Carl scurrying out of the room mumbling something about watching TV, Ian didn’t even try to deflect. He knew he’d have to face her eventually; he just stayed where he was, lying on his back on top of his bed.

“Ian,” Fiona said, in the kind of voice that indicated she was trying to ease into a difficult topic.

Yeah, because thatwas _so_ her forte.

Ian turned his head slightly to look at her. She was still wearing her skirt suit from work, but she’d scrubbed her make-up off so hard that her face was flushed red.

Either that or she’d been crying. He hoped it was the former.

“Hey,” he said. She smiled weakly at him, going over to sit on the edge of Carl’s bed.

“Ian, we need to talk,” she said resolutely. “It’s about Mandy?” Her uncertainty turned it into a question.

“I figured,” Ian said resignedly.

Fiona bit her lip, clearly unsure how to proceed. “Does she… does she know you’re, you know…”

“Gay?” Ian said in a hard voice. Jesus Christ, if his own sister couldn’t even say the word…

“Yeah,” Fiona said. “Does she know?”

“No,” Ian said.

She waited. He didn’t continue. She sighed. “And you think that’s okay?”

“No, I fucking don’t,” Ian said. He sat up abruptly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. For some reason, he was pissed off; he knew he didn’t have any reason to be, knew Fiona was just being concerned, but he couldn’t help it. He was annoyed.

“I don’t think it’s fucking okay,” he practically spat. “I hate fucking lying to her, I hate lying to _everyone_. Nothing I can fucking do, not around here. She’s my best friend. Only person who knows is you, and even _you_ can barely look me in the fucking eye!”

Fiona’s head snapped up at that. “That’s bullshit,” she said angrily.

“Is it? I’m not fucking stupid,” he said.

“Don’t act it, then,” she replied crisply. “I don’t give a shit who you fuck, but I do care who you fuck over, and Mandy doesn’t seem like she deserves it. Not to mention how hurt Lip would be if he knew you were keeping this from him.”

“Don’t tell me how to live my life,” Ian snapped, but his argument was weak and he knew it. Fiona, perhaps recognising this, ignored him.

“Lip’s your brother. You should tell him the truth.” She hesitated, and then went on: “He thinks you’re pissed with him about something.”

“He said that?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Probably because he can tell you’re not being honest with him. I said I wouldn’t tell him, and I won’t. But you should.” She stood up, walking back over to the door. “And Mandy deserves better too.”

So that was something to think about.

*

Ian was at work when he saw the creepy guy again.

It was a Saturday, and he and Mickey were hanging around in the store waiting for a good moment to hang the CLOSED sign and head to the back room. So far, it wasn’t going so well; every time they thought they’d got rid of the last customer, another one came in, jangling the little bell on the door and pushing Ian’s mood down a few notches.

He was sitting behind the counter with a magazine spread in front of him, although he hadn’t taken in a word of it – he was too busy flicking his eyes over to Mickey, watching the older boy as he stood in the familiar position by the coolers, one foot up on the wall and his arms folded in front of him. He didn’t look back at Ian, but he was chewing his bottom lip in a way that showed he was just as frustrated.

“You can put that candy back where you found ‘em or you can lose a fucking hand,” Mickey said coarsely. The two fat twelve-year-olds with their sticky fingers in the pic-n-mix hastily returned the sweets, dashing out the door. Ian hid a smile, but not very well.

“Problem, Gallagher?” Mickey asked airily.

“Nope,” Ian said definitively. He slid off the stool behind the till, walking around to stand with the other boy. “Bored as fuck,” he said.

“You got fucking customers,” Mickey replied, gesturing to an old woman peering at the vegetable display and a lanky teenager wearing a black beanie standing by the magazines.

“Shame,” Ian said, but Mickey wasn’t listening; his eyes were fixed on the teenager, who had a small figurine in his hand that he’d obviously pulled off the front of a magazine.

“Those aren’t fucking freebies!” he said loudly, striding around Ian to stand behind the kid. “You bust it, you pay for it; that’s the way it works around here.”

“Alright, alright, chill the fuck out!” The boy turned around, still holding the figurine. “I’m going to fucking pay for it.”

Mickey grinned, the kind of dangerous grin that meant he was absolutely deadly fucking serious. “Glad to hear it, man,” he said in a mock-friendly tone that sent chills down Ian’s spine.

His dick twitched like Mickey had a hotwire to it. _Fuck_ , he was horny. He made himself move back behind the counter, worried his hard-on would show.

“Hey, Ian,” Mickey said, still looking at the kid. “Why don’t you ring this up, huh?”

Ian didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He was too busy being in shock.

Ian. _Ian_. Mickey had used his fucking _name_.

Mickey _knew_ his fucking name.

Mickey had called him Ian.

“Oi, Gallagher!” The sharp bark brought him back to the present moment; Ian blinked, tuning back in. Mickey was standing off to one side, bugged-out eyes and raised eyebrows showing exactly how he felt about Ian zoning out when he was trying to intimidate someone. Ian smiled briefly, turning to face the teenager, who had approached the counter with the magazine still gripped somewhat tentatively in his hands.

And then there was a different kind of shock. An icy finger of fear spreading through his body.

Because this wasn’t just any teenager. This was the boy from the Alibi, the drunken stranger who had somehow sussed him out within seconds of meeting him. Ian recognised the big dark eyes that stared right back at him in a way that indicated he wasn’t the only one to join the dots.

“Hi,” the kid said. He couldn’t have been older than Ian himself, no fucking way. Ian hadn’t realised in the Alibi that he was so young.

“You’re the fucking asshole from the Alibi.” Ian forced his voice to become rougher, more casual. Mickey frowned at him.

“Yeah,” the boy replied. He was almost… breathless? “Um… sorry about that.” He bit his lip. “I was drunk.”

Ian sighed. “Yeah, me too,” he said. Maybe he _was_ paranoid. Maybe it had been nothing.

“Um… what’s your name?”

Yeah, or maybe _not_.

“The fuck do you care?” Mickey snapped, stepping forward somewhat menacingly. If the situation hadn’t been so completely unfunny, Ian might have laughed. It was almost as if Mickey were jealous.

The boy looked absolutely terrified. “I don’t,” he stammered. “I mean, I was just asking.” He looked back at Ian. “I’m Jay,” he offered.

“Good for you,” Ian said. “That’s two dollars.”

The boy – Jay – looked down at the magazine in his hand like he’d forgotten it was there. Hastily he tugged a couple of dollar bills out of his pocket, handing them over to Ian with trembling fingers.

Yeah. Mickey tended to have that effect on people.

“Bye,” he said in a small voice, dashing out of the store.

“The fuck was that?” Mickey asked. There was a hint of menace behind his words.

Ian shrugged. “Some prick,” he said. “You notice something?”

“Who the fuck _was_ he?” Mickey said in a hard voice. Then he frowned. “Notice what?”

Ian, walking out from behind the counter, gestured at the store. “Old lady’s gone,” he said succinctly, flipping the sign. “Store’s ours.”

They didn’t do too much talking for a while after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I am just constantly apologising for how long I take to post new chapters. I am sorry. Again.
> 
> Please forgive me and let me know what you think of this chapter? I'm curious to see how this one is received for reasons that I'll keep to myself just now... Nothing like a mystery eh?


	17. Seriously, What Is It About You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mickey discuss the future. Jay may or may not be a stalker.

They were sitting side by side in the dugout down at the Little League baseball field, lazily passing a cigarette between them and working their way through the six-pack of beer Ian had brought from the Kash & Grab. Mickey had shotgunned the first one, stabbing through the aluminium with a knife that he’d produced casually from his pocket; sucking the liquid out of the can had made Ian cough, and Mickey had thumped him hard on the back.

They’d fucked hard and fast over the bench overlooking the field, and Mickey, for once uninhibited in the lonely stillness of the great outdoors, had shouted out his pleasure for all the world to hear.

“Fuck, _yes_ , Gallagher!” he’d roared, and Ian, galvanised by this, had pumped still faster and harder into Mickey, revelling in the other boy’s enjoyment.

The sprinklers came on just as they panted out their release, straightening up together. Mickey’s face was split with an almost euphoric smile as he pulled up his pants. “Always wanted to _do that here_!” he called out to the empty field, laughing in such a carefree way that for a second it was like they were different people in a different place and time. He said, turning back to Ian: “Get back at that Little League commissioner who kicked me off my baseball team for pissing on first base.”

Ian, buttoning his jeans, said smiling, “I remember.”

“You heard about that?” Mickey asked with a frown. He pulled on his sweater; the weather was warmer now, the snow gone from the ground, but it still wasn’t warm enough to go without layers if you weren’t fucking someone.

Ian reached up to a low-hanging beam, lifting himself off the ground. “I was playing second,” he said. Mickey watched him doing pull-ups, breaking the cap on another beer.

“Fucking tough guy, huh,” he said, taking a sip. He waited until Ian had dropped back to the ground before swinging up to repeat the moves. Like he had to prove that he could do anything Ian could do.

Ian filed that information away for later use, twirling the pocket knife in his hands as he watched Mickey heaving himself up and down before he finally dropped to the ground with a teasing, satisfied smirk on his face.

They’d gone again after that, and now they were sitting in idle bliss, leaning back on their elbows to watch the darkening sky. Ian could happily have fallen asleep right there, exactly as he was, with the memory of Mickey’s unrestrained delight still deliciously fresh in his mind.

Mickey, however, clearly had other ideas; he said: “You working at towelhead’s over the summer?”

Ian, recognising the real question behind this, smiled with his eyes still closed. “Yeah,” he said. “I got summer school, though.”

“The fuck for?”

Ian shrugged. “I’m taking geometry, algebra II, trigonometry and chemistry,” he said.

Mickey gave him a look that clearly questioned his sanity. “During the summer?”

“Well, I’m trying to get into West Point,” Ian told him. Mickey gave a barking laugh.

“Dude, you want the army to give you a fucking gun all you gotta do is enlist. Recruiting station’s like, two blocks that way.” He pointed half-heartedly to their left.

Ian frowned. “But I want to be an officer,” he explained.

“You want to be an officer, huh,” Mickey repeated. “Don’t officers get shot first?”

Ian laughed. “Don’t be a smartass,” he said lazily.

Mickey snorted. “Hey, you want to get your ass blown off in some shithole, that’s your business.”

“Come on, Mick,” Ian said, propping himself up a little higher on his elbows. “You never think about what you want to do once you get out of this place?”

“The fuck you talking about?” Mickey said irritably. Ian shrugged.

“I’m not fucking staying here forever,” he said quietly.

“ _You_ might not be,” Mickey scoffed. “Doesn’t mean shit for the rest of us.”

Ian turned on his side to face the older boy. “You telling me you don’t have any plans? Dreams, goals, that kind of shit?”

“Nah,” Mickey said. “What’s the fucking point? Fuck all changes around here.”

Ian let his head drop back down again. “Some things change,” he said. “You got to _make_ them change.”

Mickey gave him a sidelong glance. “How much have you had to fucking drink, Gallagher?” He smirked. “Never took you for a lightweight.”

“Oh yeah?” Ian said challengingly, and in an instant he was on his feet, pulling Mickey down to the ground to wrestle and play, and the conversation was forgotten.

*

It was the following day that Ian saw the kid in the black beanie again. He was at work, flipping through a magazine as usual behind the counter at the Kash & Grab, when the strange boy sauntered in. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets, the black hat jammed onto his head so hard that it covered his eyebrows, and his eyes flicked around the store so quickly as he came in that he practically made Ian dizzy.

He wandered past the fruit and vegetable display to the back of the store, reaching out for something – a bag of flour – with an air of rehearsed casualness that didn’t fool Ian for a second.

He was lucky Mickey wasn’t here today; the older boy had called in sick – read: hungover – and left Ian to hold the fort on his own. Kash was off doing whatever it was he did these days – it had been a long time since Ian had given a shit – and Linda was at some doctor’s appointment.

Eventually, evidently feeling he had sufficiently given an impression of just happening to have wandered into the store, the boy ambled over to the counter. He’d replaced the flour on the shelf and picked up a couple of magazines instead.

“Three dollars and fifty cents,” Ian said as he approached. No way was he making this fucking easy on the kid.

“Uh, sure,” the boy said, fumbling in his pockets for change. “Um… it’s Jay, by the way.”

Ian frowned. “Huh?”

“My name,” the boy said. Right. Now Ian remembered.

“Jay, sure,” he said. “Three dollars fifty cents.”

Jay put the money on the counter. “What’s your name?” he asked shyly.

Reminding himself of Mickey in his brusqueness, Ian replied, “The fuck do you care?”

The kid seemed braver without Mickey’s tattooed knuckles shoved in his face. Surprise, surprise. He just smiled, like he was waiting; Ian sighed.

“Ian,” he said.

“Cool,” Jay said. “See you later, Ian.”

And despite himself, Ian felt the corners of his mouth twitch as the kid sauntered out of the store.

He should have known that Jay would be waiting when he came out of the store at the end of his shift. Should have expected to see the kid standing at the corner of the street, a small smile on his face as he slurped at the straw of a juice carton he’d obviously bought while he was waiting. It shouldn’t have been a surprise when Jay fell naturally into step with him as he passed by.

He’d been that kid before.

So he didn’t give the boy a hard time, instead just marching along the street as if he didn’t even see him. He figured that maybe Jay would just take the hint and fuck off without needing to be told.

It worked for about three seconds.

“Hey, Ian,” Jay said cheerfully.

“Are you following me?” Ian asked, stopping in his tracks.

Jay shrugged. “I guess,” he said.

“Why?”

Jay stared at him like it should have been obvious. “I want to get to know you,” he said.

And there it was, out in the open. The confession that terrified Ian because he couldn’t understand how he’d been figured out so quickly. He started walking again, more quickly this time.

“Not interested,” he said shortly.

Jay scrambled to keep up with him. “Why not?” he asked.

Ian swung round to face him, a frown creasing his face. He’d never met _anyone_ as persistent as this kid. Not even him. “What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?” he said aggressively.

To his surprise, Jay actually cracked a smile. “I get that a lot.”

“No kidding,” Ian said.

“Something wrong with me wanting to get to know you?” the kid asked innocently. Ian’s eyes narrowed.

“Why do you want to?” he said.

Jay shrugged, that strange smile returning to his face. “Why not?”

Ian, who despite his baby face hadn’t in fact been born yesterday, said: “You’re lying.”

Jay laughed. “Okay, I’m lying,” he agreed sunnily.

“Are you…” Ian hesitated, biting his lip.

“Am I what?” Jay asked.

But Ian couldn’t finish the sentence. If he couldn’t say the word _gay_ to his own brother, he definitely couldn’t say it to some random weird kid.

“Nothing,” he muttered, striding away.

Jay seemed unperturbed, loping easily alongside him.

Ian realised that things were getting ridiculous when Jay followed him right up the steps and into the Gallagher house.

The most ridiculous thing of all was the way Ian didn’t even try to stop him.

As usual, the house was pandemonium. Debs and Carl were engaged in a vicious game of Monopoly that had been going on for about three weeks, which involved a lot of arguments, a high level of swearing, and the odd touch of violence. Today it seemed that Carl was pulling ahead, because Debbie was hitting him over the head with a cushion.

“Hey, guys,” Ian said wearily, making his way past them.

They stopped just long enough to return the greeting before resuming the pillow fight. Neither of them so much as looked at Jay; they were much too used to random people coming through the Gallagher house like it was fucking Grand Central Station.

Fiona was in the kitchen, still in her work clothes – a pant suit with a pink shirt she had clearly borrowed from Vee, given the bagginess around the chest area. The wholesome smell of potato and meat indicated that she was cooking shepherd’s pie; Ian’s stomach rumbled.

“Hey, man,” Lip called out. He was sitting at the kitchen table, a bunch of school books spread out in front of him and Liam crammed onto his lap. Fiona turned around, giving Ian a weak smile. Her eyes were red.

“Hey,” Ian said. He gestured awkwardly at Jay, who was standing silently behind him. “This is Jay.”

Lip frowned. “Hey,” he said, giving Ian a questioning look. Ian shrugged.

“You staying for dinner, Jay?” Fiona asked.

“Sure,” Jay said easily. “Thanks.” He went over to the table, pulling out the chair next to Lip and sliding into it.

Fiona frowned. “Ian, can I talk to you for a second?” she said in the kind of tone that indicated it was a rhetorical question.

“Uh… okay,” Ian said, puzzled. He followed her up the back stairs and into her bedroom. “What’s up?”

“Ian, is that your boyfriend?” she demanded.

It was so fucking unexpected that Ian actually laughed out loud. “What? Fuck, no,” he said.

“Because I really don’t think it’s a good idea for you to invite over guys you’re doing,” she said persistently.

That stopped him laughing immediately. “Why not?” he said.

She sighed. “Well, since I’m the only one in the house who knows you’re… you know, _gay_ …”

“So what, it’s okay for Lip to bring home Karen fucking Jackson, and for you to bang Steve or Jimmy or whatever on the kitchen floor, but because I’m _gay_ it’s not okay for me to do the same?” he said angrily.

“Keep your fucking voice down,” she hissed. Then she straightened up. “Or don’t. It’s not like I’m the one who cares about keeping your sexuality a secret. It’s got nothing to do with that and you know it.”

“So what’s it to do with, then?”

She heaved another great sigh like he was being difficult on purpose. “I think you’re being a dick,” she said frankly. “You’re being a dick to Lip and a dick to Mandy, and I don’t agree with you fucking rubbing it in their faces. And if it was Lip fucking someone else behind his girlfriend’s back, I’d say the exact same thing to him, so stop interpreting everything I say as fucking homophobic because you know full fucking well that I don’t feel that way!”

Now Ian _felt_ like a dick. He looked again at her reddened, exhausted face and thought, not for the first time, how fucking typical it was that Fiona could make time for this and any other disaster in the lives of her siblings despite the fact that her own world was falling apart.

“Sorry, Fiona,” he said. He shuffled his feet. “I’m not fucking Jay, though. He’s a kid. Not really my type.” He grimaced at the thought.

“Okay,” she said. “So who is he?”

Ian shrugged. “No fucking clue,” he said tiredly. “Keeps coming into the store, won’t leave me alone.”

“Great,” Fiona said, deadpan. “We have a stalker at the dinner table.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wahey, I got a chapter out in actual good time! *ten points to Hufflepuff for me*
> 
> As always, I am loving any and all feedback, so keep it coming! Hope you enjoy...


	18. You Are My Loneliest Boy In The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jay becomes further entangled in Ian's life.

Yeah, there was a stalker sitting at the dinner table.

And the breakfast table, chucking Liam under the chin and making him giggle.

And the couch, getting right in the middle of Carl and Debbie’s latest argument.

And the steps out the back, sharing a smoke with Lip and having intellectual conversations way past anything Ian could be bothered to try and understand.

Jay was fucking _everywhere_. Ian wondered idly if the kid actually had a home of his own to go to; he was never _not_ at the Gallagher’s, dipping into the cereal box that Fiona had in front of her while she worked on Hal’s latest accounting screw-ups, or lying lazily on Carl’s bed while Ian puzzled out geometry theorems.

He’d tried a few times to get the kid to fuck off. It had always wound up going the same way.

“Why?” Jay would say, his expression so open and fucking _innocent_ that Ian wanted to scream.

“I don’t know you, man,” he’d reply.

Jay only laughed. “So get to know me,” he said easily.

“Why are you always here?” Ian would demand in frustration.

And to that he always got the same, unfathomable response: “Why not?”

After a while he just couldn’t be bothered trying to chase the kid off any more. Besides which, he realised he actually kind of liked having him around.

“Aren’t you scared?” Jay asked him one day.

Ian looked up from the algebra textbooks spread out across his bed, glad of the distraction. “Of what?”

Jay shrugged. “Getting shot. Dying.”

“In the army? Nah,” Ian said. “I’m a patriot.”

Jay laughed. “Do you actually know what that word means?”

“Means I love my country,” Ian said, irritated.

The kid acted like he hadn’t heard the annoyed tone to Ian’s voice. Ian doubted very much that that was true; Jay was one of the most aggravatingly perceptive people he had ever met. Now, he just said, “Dude, I don’t think patriots are supposed to fuck with the system as much as you do.”

And despite himself Ian laughed. “Probably won’t get the chance. This fucking math will kill me before I make it to West Point.”

“Why don’t you ask your brother for help? He’s plenty smart,” Jay offered.

Ian bit his lip. It wasn’t as though the idea hadn’t crossed his mind, but he and Lip didn’t seem to be doing much talking these days. He knew it was his own fault, knew he was creating distance between them as a way of dealing with what he _wasn’t_ telling his brother, but he still didn’t like it.

A rock and a fucking hard place.

Jay seemed to recognise that he’d touched on a sore subject. He rolled onto his side. “Want to get out of here for a bit?”

“Sure,” Ian said, jumping up. He hadn’t seen Mandy in a couple of weeks; her cramps had turned out to be gastroenteritis, and she had fiercely objected to him visiting her, getting Tony to practically chase him away the couple of times he had tried it. Maybe now would be a good time to try again. Mickey had said she was doing better.

He had only seen Mickey at work this last fortnight. They had fucked as usual, but made no plans to meet up afterwards. Mickey seemed to accept the change quite easily, but it was starting to piss Ian off. The sex was much better outside the store, and they didn’t always have to get back to work without talking.

He knew it was because of Jay. He was worried about Mickey finding out how much time he was spending with the kid; worried that he would kick off, act suspicious, frighten Jay away for good.

Because as much as he hated to admit it, he actually enjoyed spending time with Jay. Enjoyed getting to know him, chatting about random shit, feeling so completely unjudged in a way that even Lip didn’t make him feel.

Lip was always a judgement on Ian. Two boys, close in age, growing up together… Of course they were compared.

And as the days had gone by, and Jay hadn’t made a move on him, Ian had just let himself relax and enjoy having a new friend. He knew Jay couldn’t be straight – not with the sizeable stack of evidence to the contrary – but as long as he kept his hands to himself, Ian was okay. He wasn’t remotely attracted to the kid. Why would he be? He had Mickey.

And okay, it was more than likely that Jay liked him. It was the only thing that would explain why he was always hanging around. But he wasn’t creepy about it, never made Ian feel defensive and generally was just pleasant – if slightly odd – company. So Ian figured that if Jay had a crush, that was his problem.

Yeah. Because it had worked out _so_ well the last time someone had had a crush on him.

“Where are we going?” Jay asked as they left the house. It was nearing the end of May now, and the weather was heating up considerably; no sweater was now required.

Ian shrugged. “My girlfriend’s house,” he said.

And yeah, maybe he wanted Jay to know he had a girlfriend. Wanted to be clear that he wasn’t interested. He liked girls.

Sure he did.

“You have a girlfriend?” Sure enough, Jay’s tone was surprised.

“Sure,” Ian said, trying to sound relaxed. “Mandy.”

Jay appeared to process this. After a moment he just said, “Cool.”

When they banged on the front door of the Milkovich house, it was Iggy who answered. Ian was glad; he didn’t feel like arguing with Tony about coming in again.

“Hey, man,” Iggy said. Then he caught sight of Jay. “Who’s this?”

“I’m Jay,” Jay said helpfully. Iggy raised his eyebrows, but didn’t comment, moving aside so they could come in.

“How’s Mandy?” Ian asked.

Iggy shrugged. “Bitchy,” he said. Ian took this as a good sign. “She’s in her room,” Iggy added.

Ian didn’t bother to thank him, going down the narrow corridor that led to Mandy’s bedroom. Joey and Tony, who were sitting at the kitchen table cleaning a pair of shotguns, nodded briefly to him as he passed. He returned the gesture without stopping.

“Mandy?” he called, tapping on her bedroom door.

“Ian?” There was a shuffle, and then the door opened.

Mandy looked, if possible, even skinnier and paler than usual. She wore black jeans with a long-sleeved grey shirt, which was probably the most clothes Ian had ever seen on her, and the greatest indication that she hadn’t been well. Her hair was bunched in a messy braid coiling down onto one shoulder, the pink streaks straggling out where she hadn’t redyed them. She was wearing her usual thick black eyeliner, however, which meant she was at least well enough not to throw them out. And she was smiling.

“Hey!” she said. And without another word, she surged forwards into his arms. Ian ran his hands up her back, kissing her wholeheartedly. He had missed her.

Because of this, he kissed her for a lot longer than he usually did, letting his tongue mingle with hers and imagining that it was Mickey’s. When she finally pulled away, there was an enormous smile on her face.

“Good to see you,” he said. She laughed, reaching up to ruffle his hair.

“Hi,” Jay said. Ian had almost forgotten he was there, but he couldn’t help feeling slightly, selfishly pleased that the boy had witnessed him kissing a girl. “I’m Jay.”

“Hi,” Mandy said, frowning. She looked at Ian.

“Jay’s my stalker,” Ian said. Mandy laughed again.

“Cool,” she said. “Is he any good at _Halo_?”

“I’ve never played,” Jay said.

“Weird,” Mandy said. “Come on.”

*

An hour and a half later, it was clear that Jay, whatever other talents he might possess, _sucked_ at video games.

They’d systematically gone through every game the Milkoviches possessed, attempting to find _something_ he could play without killing himself, without success. Mandy, admitting defeat, lay sprawled on the couch with her head in Ian’s lap; Ian, having decimated Jay for the millionth time, was just watching as the younger boy attempted to move from the spot without dying.

“What’s up, losers?”

Ian sat up straighter instantly, the sudden movement making Mandy shift in his lap. She looked up at him with a frown; he barely even noticed it. Mickey had just entered the house.

Ian was struck, for the thousandth time, just how _hot_ the guy he was fucking was. Mickey wore a beige tank top – slightly optimistic, the weather wasn’t _that_ good yet, but it wasn’t like Ian was complaining – that showed off his impressively muscular arms, pale and smooth and just fucking gorgeous. His face was slightly dirty, his dark hair standing up in stiff spikes and a thin wash of stubble on his chin, but the features underneath were as beautiful as ever. His bright blue eyes found Ian, just for a second, and Ian thought he had never been so close to just coming on the spot.

Lucky Mandy was resting her head on his leg rather than his cock, or that could have made for an awkward conversation. Ian was rock-hard just _looking_ at Mickey.

It was fucking amazing that most people would just have seen a grubby thug in baggy sweatpants. Ian didn’t understand how they could miss what was right in front of them.

There were about a million things that Ian _could_ have said to Mickey in that moment. He was feeling pretty poetic. But he limited himself to a simple, “Hey, man.”

“Hey,” Mickey said without looking at him. His gaze had fallen on Jay, who looked back at him nervously.

“This is Jay,” Mandy said, seeing where he was looking. “Ian’s friend.”

“That right,” Mickey said blandly. Ian, who recognised the tone, bit his lip.

“Hey,” Jay said bravely. “You work at the store with Ian, right?”

Mickey took a step forward. Just a step. That was all it took. Jay seemed to shrink right in front of Ian’s eyes.

Ian, on the hand, was _growing_. Fortunately not in front of anyone’s eyes, though he suspected Mickey knew it from the self-satisfied smirk he was hiding behind the thumb and forefinger tugging on his lower lip.

“Yeah, I remember you,” he said. “Wannabe shoplifter, right?”

“No,” Jay said, sounding absolutely petrified, but obstinately defending himself nonetheless. Ian had to hand it to him. You had to be pretty courageous to stand up to a Milkovich.

“What’s your problem, Mick?” Mandy said irritably. “Jay’s okay.”

“Except he sucks at _Halo_ ,” Ian supplied, and Mandy snorted. Mickey’s eyes narrowed at the familiarity.

“Don’t remember you being so fucking chummy back at the store,” he observed. He took another step forward.

“New development, I guess,” Jay said, seeming slightly bolstered by Mandy and Ian’s support.

Mickey took another step. “That was fucking quick.” His voice was definitely menacing now. “Didn’t even know his name last time I saw you.”

Jay actually cracked a smile. Either brave or stupid. “I’m his stalker,” he said, glancing at Ian. The amusement was clear in his voice.

“That right,” Mickey said again. “What’s your fucking problem, man?”

“Jesus, Mick, what’s _your_ fucking problem?” Ian interjected, sick of the stand-off. “Leave him alone.”

Mickey looked at him for one long second, and Ian felt a lump rise in his throat at the look of fucking _betrayal_ in his blue eyes. But then the moment passed, and Mickey looked away. “Whatever, Gallagher. Have fun with the faggots, Mandy.”

And he was gone, slamming his bedroom door behind him with such force that the hinges rattled.

There was an awkward pause. “Guess he doesn’t like me,” Jay said.

“Mickey doesn’t like anyone,” Mandy informed him, lying back onto Ian’s lap. “He and Ian fucking _work_ together and I had to stop him from beating Ian up.”

“Really?” Jay said, turning to look at Ian. “I thought you guys were friends.”

Ian shrugged, but before he could answer, Mandy snorted loudly. “Mickey doesn’t have friends,” she said.

“Sounds pretty lonely,” Jay said thoughtfully.

Yeah, it fucking did.

*

“You doing him?”

It was just past midday, and Ian had spent most of the morning in awkward silence at work, wanting to bring up what had happened but not quite knowing how. Trust Mickey to take matters into his own hands.

Ian said stupidly: “Who?”

Mickey waved his hands frustratedly. “Creepy kid.”

“Jay? Nah, man,” Ian replied, sounding a lot more casual than he felt. “We’re friends, that’s all.” He grinned. “You jealous, Mick?”

“Fuck off,” Mickey replied without heat. “You do who you want, I’m just fucking asking.”

Ian laughed. “Too young for me,” he said.

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” Mickey said, a teasing smile appearing on his face. “You like them older, right? Like towelhead?”

“Right,” Ian agreed. “That’s why I’m with you.”

It was such a throwaway comment. Just a turn of phrase, slipping out of Ian’s mouth before he could pull it back. For a second, neither he nor Mickey realised what he had said.

The next moment, both of them did.

“The fuck, Gallagher?” Mickey said quietly.

“Shit, Mickey,” Ian started. He sighed. “You know what I fucking meant.”

“Let’s be fucking clear,” Mickey hissed. “You’re not _with me_. Fuck.”

“Friends with you,” Ian tried. “That’s why I’m _friends_ with you.”

There was a pause while Mickey took this in, his eyes flicking around the store like he was looking for an exit. His tongue skimmed over his lips as he shifted from right to left.

And then he spoke, and Ian felt like he might break from the heaviness of Mickey’s voice.

“I don’t have fucking friends.”

And all Ian could hear was Mandy’s voice in his head. _Mickey doesn’t like anyone. Mickey doesn’t have friends._

There wasn’t much to say after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See this is what happens when I have time off work. Two chapters in two days, woop woop!
> 
> PLEASE TELL ME IF IAN IS GETTING OOC. I'm worried that he is, but I don't know how to stop it!
> 
> Honestly all I want to do is wrap them both in a big fluffy blanket and keep them there forever.


	19. There's Not One Single Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jay is missing. Ian wants to tell Lip the truth.

“Jay, pick up the fucking phone, I’m out of minutes.” Ian snapped his cell shut with an irritated sigh, tossing it across the room to land on the little pile of discarded clothes by the door.

“The fuck, Gallagher?” Mickey’s voice was harsh, and Ian jumped. The older boy had gone out the back to piss, and he’d thought he’d had time to make the call.

He sighed. “Jay’s not answering his phone,” he said lamely.

Mickey was already unbuttoning his jeans. “Why do you give a shit?”

“He’s my friend,” Ian insisted. “I don’t get why he’s suddenly off the radar, that’s all.”

Mickey didn’t answer, kicking off his pants with his eyebrows raised. They hadn’t talked about Jay at all since the short, aborted conversation when Mickey had told Ian that he didn’t have friends; they hadn’t really talked at all since then. At first Ian had been pissed that Mickey didn’t even consider him a friend, and then he’d just felt kind of sad, and tired. They’d carried on fucking like nothing had changed, and for the first time Ian was starting to get just a little sick of it. It was still as breathtakingly hot as it ever had been, but he wanted more.

Even now, the way that Mickey was stripping just to avoid talking was pissing him off. He wanted to force the other boy to put his clothes back on, to have a conversation with him. Ian had thought that they hadn’t really talked much before, but now that Mickey had completely cut off verbal communication with him, he realised how much he missed the idle chit-chat that they had had.

The trouble was, Mickey looked so hot standing there in front of him with his cock leaking and his dirty pale chest pumping that it was practically impossible for Ian to say any of this. He was too busy ripping off his own pants – their t-shirts had been discarded long ago – to think about anything else.

It started off pretty standard, with Mickey’s tattooed hand wrapped around Ian’s cock as they both lay on the floor – not the comfiest way to fuck, but Ian was way too far gone to care – jerking him off while Ian moaned. But for some reason, Ian didn’t feel like just fucking Mickey. He wanted more. He couldn’t _have_ more, not the way he wanted, but he could maybe have more in bed. Maybe it was fucked up, maybe it was pathetic – well, no maybe about it, the way he felt about Mickey had always been pathetic – but today Ian didn’t just want to get Mickey off.

He wanted to blow his fucking mind.

So he pushed Mickey’s hand away from his cock, ignoring the confused glare he got in response, and manoeuvred himself so that he was lying on his side beside the older boy. Mickey looked tense and nervous, obviously unsure what Ian was doing.

“Gallagher…” he started, but Ian shook his head.

“Shut the fuck up,” he murmured. “Just shut up.”

“Fuck off, Gallagher,” Mickey said, trying to sit up.

Ian was on him in an instant, straddling the older boy and thrusting him roughly back to the ground. “I said to shut up,” he growled, his nails digging into Mickey’s chest. “I fucking meant it.”

Mickey opened his mouth like he was going to talk again; Ian pinched his nipple, hard.

He’d never done that before. He’d meant it like a slight, minor reprimand for not listening to him. The response he got was a complete shock.

Mickey gasped, loudly, and his eyes rolled back in his head, his eyelashes practically fluttering. His mouth fell open, and a deep, guttural moan sounded somewhere in his throat.

Even as Ian’s eyes widened in surprise, Mickey pulled away from him, slapping one shaking tattooed hand over his mouth. He didn’t need to say the word. It was right there on his knuckles. Not to mention written all over his face.

It was kind of sad how Mickey thought that he had to hide from Ian. Like he couldn’t enjoy himself too much without being judged. And Ian didn’t know how to tell him that he didn’t have to worry.

He decided to show him instead, dipping forward to press a hard kiss against the older boy’s chest. Mickey shuddered underneath him, his hand falling away from his mouth again, and emboldened by this, Ian pinched his nipple again.

Mickey’s whole body fucking _spasmed_.

Ian’s fingernails scraped down Mickey’s chest, his cock swelling into the curve of the other boy’s pelvis. Mickey looked like he might cover his mouth again, and Ian wasn’t having that, so he reached up to pin the older boy’s wrists against the floor above his head. Mickey didn’t say anything, but Ian could feel his heart pounding where their chests met. Or maybe it was his own heart; he couldn’t tell which was which.

Still holding Mickey’s wrists, his head plunged down to plant a trail of nipping, biting kisses down the other boy’s chest, leaving dark marks in a wandering path from his neck to his belly button, which was about as far as Ian could reach. Every time his lips and teeth met Mickey’s skin, the other boy shuddered and groaned beneath him.

“You like that, huh?” he said with a breathless smile as his tongue flicked over Mickey’s nipple. Mickey gave a deep moan, but didn’t answer. Ian looked at him; his light blue eyes were flickering restlessly around the room, landing anywhere but Ian’s face.

Ian glided back up Mickey’s body, kissing the side of his neck – ignoring the flinch he got in return – and closing his teeth on Mickey’s earlobe, so hard that the older boy winced.

“I said,” Ian said in a low hiss, “you like that, huh?” He leaned down to suck on Mickey’s nipple again.

“Fuck, Gallagher!” Mickey moaned. “Fuck, yes, I fucking like it, okay?”

Ian grinned against his lover’s chest, and impulsively kissed him on the stomach; not one of the nipping kisses he had been delivering all over Mickey’s body, but a light, soft kiss that made Mickey tense up immediately.

“Relax,” Ian breathed. He was still holding Mickey’s wrists, and his arms were starting to ache; besides, there were other things he wanted his hands for. But he didn’t want Mickey able to get free.

He cast around for some kind of inspiration; it came to him in the form of Mickey’s jeans, crumpled in a heap beside him. Clutching Mickey’s wrists – with some difficulty – in one strong hand, he used the other to tug at Mickey’s belt, wrestling it free of the pants.

“What are you doing?” Mickey said suspiciously. Ian ignored him, having untangled the belt, and brought it up to wrap around Mickey’s arms. “The fuck, Gallagher?”

But the protest was half-hearted at best, and it was this that had Ian grinning as he tied Mickey’s hands to the shelving unit behind them. He shook out the tension in his wrists, smirking down at the other boy.

“Do you know how fucking hot you look right now?” Ian said. Mickey narrowed his eyes.

“You say that again, I’ll rip your tongue out of your head,” he snapped.

For a second, Ian’s face fell, but only for a second. He had learned to recognise when Mickey meant things and when he didn’t. He grinned widely at the other boy, and was rewarded by a twitch in the corner of Mickey’s mouth.

Mickey bucked his hips, a clear sign to stop messing around and get on with it. Ian smirked. “Frustrated, Mick?”

“Fuck off.”

Ian grinned even wider as he slid his hands down Mickey’s chest – stopping to tweak his nipple again, and relishing the deep groan that this elicited – and wrapped them both around Mickey’s cock, feeling it swell within his grip.

“Fu-u-uck, Gallagher…” Mickey breathed, his back arching into Ian’s touch. Ian couldn’t even describe how he was feeling in that moment; the sensation of power, the feeling that he, and he alone, could get Mickey to make those glorious sounds, was fucking addictive. A high he would chase forever.

“You want me to fuck you, Mick?” Mickey’s only response was a groan; Ian went on: “Come on, Mickey, tell me what you want.”

The air almost stilled as Mickey hesitated. Maybe it was a little childish to manipulate him like this, but it seemed like sex was the only time Ian could take any kind of control, and as silly as it was, he would take full advantage of that fact.

It seemed like maybe he’d gone a little far this time, though. Mickey lay completely silent underneath him, like he was deciding whether or not to throw Ian off him, and Ian was just about to capitulate and fuck him anyway when Mickey said gruffly: “Fuck me.”

“What?” Ian was so surprised he forgot to play the game; he stared at his lover, who was resolutely glaring at the ceiling.

“Fuck me,” Mickey said again. “Shit… Ian… fuck me.”

And Ian, knowing what it cost Mickey to say those words, took the other boy into his mouth without comment, his heart singing. He pushed one finger into Mickey’s ass at the same time, moving it experimentally until he felt the shiver running through the other boy’s body that told him he’d found his prostate. He slid another finger inside, stretching Mickey in the well-worn routine. They did this so often now that Mickey barely needed any prep any more; after less than a minute, Ian let Mickey’s rock-hard cock fall out of his mouth and lined himself up against the older boy’s ass.

“Shit,” Mickey hissed under his breath. “Oh, fuck, come _on_ , Gallagher!” He hesitated. “ _Ian_.”

And at the sound of his own name, Ian rammed into Mickey, plunging balls deep with a guttural groan of his own, one hand wrapped around Mickey’s cock. Mickey gasped, and his hands shook against the restraints around them.

For a few moments, Ian stayed deep inside his lover, looking down at Mickey’s face, which looked as though he was falling apart, in the best way. Then he eased out again before thrusting back into the older boy, again and again until their low-pitched moans were mingling into one throaty shout of pleasure and they were coming, Ian inside Mickey and Mickey into Ian’s hand, spilling out their desire and satisfaction onto each other.

“Fuck,” Ian breathed as he pulled out of Mickey. “Fuck!”

Mickey was grinning. “You like that, huh?” he said, mimicking Ian.

Unlike Mickey, Ian had no problem expressing exactly how much he had enjoyed himself. “Fuck, yeah!”

Mickey closed his eyes, a smile of intense satisfaction stretching his mouth. Ian collapsed on the floor beside him, his head resting on Mickey’s chest; he hadn’t exactly planned it that way, but he sure wasn’t complaining. Mickey’s eyes popped open, giving Ian a sideways glance.

“You gonna leave me hanging here all day?” he said, shaking his wrists so that the shelves rattled. Ian had forgotten he was tied. He pouted slightly; he kind of liked the idea of falling asleep on Mickey, which he knew would only happen if the older boy didn’t have a choice. “Gallagher?”

Clearly the brief window of his first name had closed. Ian sighed, propping himself up on one elbow, and unwound the belt around Mickey’s wrists. The older boy flexed his tattooed hands, rubbing the red marks.

“It hurt?” Ian asked. Mickey shrugged.

“Had worse.”

Ian laughed. “Seriously?”

Mickey rolled his eyes, shrugging his shoulders until Ian slid off his chest. “Fuck off, Gallagher, not like this. You know what I meant.”

Ian pulled a cigarette and lighter out of his pocket. He always knew what Mickey meant. Maybe the older boy had more friends than he thought.

*

Excellent fucks notwithstanding, Ian really was worried about Jay. It had been three weeks, and he still hadn’t heard from him. School ended, and full summer rolled in; the heat was sticky and unbearable, and Ian and Mickey took to fucking under the sprinklers in the baseball dugout. Fiona celebrated her twenty-first birthday – fucking some quiff-haired rich boy halfway through the party, if Vee was to be believed – and immediately quit her job at Hal’s for a better-paid one at a club in the centre of town. Gallagher Daycare – Debbie’s bright idea last summer – was open for business, expertly and mercilessly run by Debs with assistance from Ethel. It was Ian’s favourite time of year, and he was enjoying the mixture of sex and money and freedom, but behind it all was a layer of concern. He’d never gone this long without hearing from Jay. It was like the kid had just dropped off the face of the Earth.

It didn’t help that Mickey was so spectacularly unsympathetic. In some obscure way, he almost seemed pleased about Jay’s absence; Ian was torn between being pissed off about this and feeling pleased that Mickey actually cared enough to be jealous. He wished there was some way he could tell the other boy that he didn’t have anything to worry about. There was only one person Ian wanted to be with, and it definitely wasn’t some kid in a beanie hat. But Mickey would probably punch him in the face if he tried to verbalise any of that.

The other person Ian was starting to worry about was Lip. His brother had taken to spending large amounts of time in an abandoned warehouse smoking pot with a bunch of guys from school that Ian would definitely class as dodgy – and this was coming from someone sticking his dick into a Milkovich. Once or twice he’d caught Lip mopping up bruises on his face and arms, but he deflected any questions, disappearing into the bathroom without a word. It killed Ian. There was a time when neither of them had any secrets from each other; now it seemed they both did. He felt like he barely spoke to his brother any more. Fiona disapproved, he could see that; when she was awake – which wasn’t often in daylight hours – she gave him meaningful, irritated glances. He basically didn’t have anyone he could talk to in his whole fucking family.

Maybe that was why he missed Jay so much.

The only person who was blissfully unchanged was Mandy. If anything, summer had brought something out in her; it was almost as though her very face was changing before his eyes. They were as close as ever, laughing and getting high together, collapsing into bed together, and occasionally sharing sweaty kisses.

It was nearly a month later, well into July, that there was a knock on the door. Ian was sitting on the couch with Mandy with an electric fan going full blast in the corner of the room and some shitty TV show flickering across the television. His shirt was on the floor, revealing pink tan lines where he’d burnt in the sun; Mandy had already teased him profusely for his innate inability to tan. The downside to being a redhead. Her hair was bunched up in a rare ponytail, sweaty strands sticking to the back of her neck as her chest heaved under the tiny black cropped top she was wearing. Ian figured that if he’d been straight, he’d be having trouble keeping his hands to himself.

Fiona was slumped in the green armchair in the corner, snoring slightly with her hair splayed out over her shoulders. She was a little better now that she’d started fucking someone else; it still wasn’t the same as when Jimmy had been around, but it was better than before. Lip was working on some summer assignment at the kitchen table, gulping down beer like it was nectar. Debs and Carl were out in the pool with the daycare kids and Liam, and presumably Ethel was watching them. She was an odd one. It was a typical summer afternoon; everyone too hot and tired to do anything except nothing.

And then came the knock.

“Door,” Fiona grumbled, her eyes still closed. “Door!”

“I’ll get it,” Mandy said, sliding off the sofa. Ian fell back against the couch cushions.

She ambled over to the door – it was too hot to bound in her usual way – and tugged it open. The next minute, Ian heard her exclaim delightedly: “Jay! Where the fuck have you been?”

Ian’s head whipped around. Mandy was leading Jay inside; he looked nervous and slightly shifty, clasping his hands together. He’d had a haircut since Ian had last seen him. He was wearing blue shorts and a red t-shirt, looking strange without his customary hat.

Mandy was smiling. She had liked Jay almost as much as Ian had.

“Hey,” Jay said quietly.

“Hey,” Ian replied. “Where’ve you been?”

“Sorry,” Jay said. He sounded like he meant it, too. “I was an idiot.”

Ian half-wanted to push the issue, but he just couldn’t be bothered. He had way too much practice _not_ pushing issues. He grinned. “Want a beer?”

Jay smiled back. “Sure,” he said, and it was as though nothing had changed.

*

“No, seriously! Dude’s got me pinned, and there’s no way I’m backing out of this one – you know how much money you can get from a good fight?”

Thanks to Jay, Ian now knew why Lip had been coming home with bruises: he was running a fight club in the old warehouse, and occasionally had to fill in when his fighters pussied out. Somehow Jay, in his usual magnetic way, had drawn Lip out of the kitchen to sit with them, and just a few casual questions had got the information Ian had failed to elicit in a month. Not that he’d tried that hard, he realised. He was a dick.

“Looks like the pussy had the right idea,” Fiona observed sleepily from the armchair. Lip laughed easily. He didn’t look at Ian, and Ian felt his stomach flip, because he hated it. Hated feeling like his brother was a fucking stranger.

He needed to tell Lip the truth.

He was seized by the strangest, most impossible urge to _talk_ , to tell the truth he had been hiding from everyone. Not just Lip, but Jay and Mandy as well. He wanted to tell them. He would just say it. _Lip, I’m gay. Mandy, I’m sorry._

Suddenly he didn’t know why he’d been so afraid. Lip was his brother. He might not totally understand, but he’d have his back. He always had done. _Name a single time I’ve let you down._

He never had. And now wasn’t the time to start doubting him.

“Lip…” Ian began. And that was as far as he got, because the back door banged open, and Mickey stood in the doorway.

Swinging a baseball bat in his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh God. There are no words. I have no excuse. I am a terrible person.
> 
> For some reason I've spent a month or so not being very inspired with this fic. I nearly orphaned it. Finally got my mojo back though (I hope)! I swear I'll never do it again! I think I'm back in the swing now.
> 
> I felt a little rusty getting back into Ian's head, so please as ever let me know if he's getting OOC!


	20. It Feels So Good To Speak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian finds out the truth about Jay. Kash makes a startling confession.

“Mickey? What the fuck are you doing here?” Mandy said, staring at her brother.

Ian wasn’t so much looking at Mickey – hot as his lip-licking smirk was – as at the bat swinging in his hands.

He swaggered through the kitchen, stopping in the entrance to the living room with the bat hitting his palm menacingly, totally ignoring Mandy. Fiona stood up warily, her sleepiness forgotten; Mickey ignored her too, and Ian realised that his attention was completely focused on Jay.

He licked his lips. “Thought I told you to get the fuck out of town,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet.

Ian looked over at Jay. The kid was still there, to his credit, although the fingers clutching the can of beer were white.

Jay looked steadily back at Mickey, although his voice wavered slightly as he spoke. “I did,” he said. “But then I decided not to let you dictate where I spend my time.”

Mickey swung the bat to hit the palm of his hand again.

“Wait,” Ian said, standing up. “You’re the reason he went AWOL?”

Jay looked from Mickey to Ian and back again. “He came to my house with a shotgun,” he said clearly.

Ian’s head was reeling. There was so much that didn’t make sense about that image; how did Mickey even know where Jay lived? Ian didn’t fucking know that. _Why_ would he threaten Jay?

“What the fuck, Mickey?” Mandy exclaimed. A vein by Mickey’s eye twitched, but he didn’t look away from Jay.

When he spoke, his voice was almost soft. “I was pretty fucking clear,” he said. “Get the fuck out, and don’t come back, unless you want a broken fucking kneecap.”

“No,” Jay said bravely.

Ian took a step forward. “What’s your problem, Mick?”

Now Mickey did look at him. “ _My_ problem?” he said, and he actually sounded incredulous. “My fucking problem is that this Northside asshole is sitting on your couch drinking your fucking beer when I was pretty _fucking_ clear that he’s not welcome around here any more!”

Ian frowned, confused. Trying to figure out why Mickey suddenly had a massive issue with Jay. Yeah, he knew Mickey had been a little jealous of Ian’s friendship with the kid, but that didn’t seem to be enough to warrant this kind of reaction. Mickey might be tough, but he wasn’t a fucking idiot.

Lip spoke up for the first time. “What do you mean, Northside?”

Which was a good fucking question. Ian hadn’t picked up on that part of Mickey’s little speech; he’d been too busy trying to figure out the source of the other boy’s anger.

“Fucker’s some Lake View rich kid,” Mickey snorted.

Lip frowned at Jay. “You live in Lake View?”

This was news to Ian as well. He’d just assumed that Jay was Southside, like them; why the fuck would a Northsider be hanging around in this shithole?

Jay’s shoulders were hunched defensively. “So?” he said aggressively.

Hadn’t Ian wondered from the fucking start why Jay was always hanging around? Why Jay had seemingly singled him out?

Mickey took a menacing step forward. “How about this, bitch? Get the fuck out, or I tell them what you’re really fucking doing here.”

The room seemed to become very still at this. Jay looked impossibly tense, almost like he might cry; Ian’s brain was whirring. He felt like he was on the edge of figuring something out. The secret of Jay.

“Go on,” Mickey hissed mockingly. “Tell him your fucking name.” He gestured with his head to Ian.

His name? Didn’t Ian know Jay’s name?

“Will someone please explain what the fuck is going on?” Mandy said in a high-pitched voice.

What did he really know about Jay? Why did he always deflect any personal questions? _Why was he fucking here?_

“Seconded,” Lip agreed.

Ian remembered the way Jay had bumped into him in the Alibi. The look in his eyes as he turned at the door. The way he’d showed up at the store, as if by accident.

“Yeah, that would be fucking nice,” Fiona chimed in.

Ian didn’t say anything. Because he fucking knew.

“Jay,” he said. “Jacob.”

Everyone turned to look at him, including Jay. His eyes were pleading.

“Huh?” Lip said.

“Seconded.” This was from Mandy, who had apparently liked it when Lip said it before.

“You’re Jacob Gallagher,” Ian said. “My brother.”

*

Linda was in a foul fucking mood when Ian swung into the store. “It’s about time,” she muttered crossly, shoving the box she was carrying into his arms. “You seen Kash last night?”

“No,” Ian said shortly, moving away from her. Things between him and Kash had only become more awkward; Kash had taken to giving him these long, pining looks when Linda’s back was turned in a way that made Ian wonder what the hell he’d seen in him in the first place.

“He didn’t come home again,” Linda said, her voice just slightly desperate. Things must be bad if she was telling _him_ that. She went on in her usual tone, moving behind the counter: “I had to open the shop by myself. Homeless winos ten deep at the door trying to trade stolen recycling for forties and Mad Dog.”

“Pack of Marlboros,” a skinny kid trying his luck said, holding out a twenty.

Linda glared at him. “How old are you? Eight? Get the hell out of here!” The kid shuffled away. Linda looked over at Ian, who was restocking the fruit. “You can handle the store by yourself? I gotta get upstairs. The twins are going to be late for swim team at the mosque. Mickey’s not in today.”

Ian already knew that, given that he’d come from Mickey’s bed, but he didn’t say anything as she grabbed a doughnut, taking a large bite with one hand resting on her swollen belly.

“And no free breakfast,” she said with her mouth full. “You come to work hungry, you pay like everybody else.”

Which Ian took as permission to take his own doughnut as soon as she’d marched out the back.

After the revelation with Jay, everyone had started talking at once. Fiona seemed to be torn between hugging her newfound cousin and smacking him in the head – her general attitude when it came to her family, in Ian’s experience. Lip had punched Jay in the arm, but he’d been smiling. Mandy had sat back down on the couch with sky-high eyebrows.

Jay himself had said very little. He’d been waiting for Ian to speak.

Ian hadn’t had a fucking clue what to say. So he’d told them he had to get to work, which was a complete lie, but Mickey had backed him up.

“We’re late, Gallagher, bitch’ll have our asses,” he’d said.

Ian had never been more grateful. He kind of liked that Mickey was lying for him. He’d told Mandy to stay put – which she seemed more than happy to do, clearly having more questions for Jay – and the two of them had gone back to the blissfully empty Milkovich house and fucked for two hours straight.

Later, Mandy had come home, and Ian had had to pretend he had just arrived. She didn’t mention Jay, and Ian didn’t bring it up. He still had no clue how he felt. Mandy fell asleep curled up beside him in bed, and as soon as her breathing steadied he slipped down the corridor to see Mickey and slam into him over and over to try and forget what he had just found out.

Now, as he did his best _not_ to think about any of this, the door swung open and Kash sidled in, looking furtive. “Linda gone?” he asked. Ian grunted in assent through his doughnut.

“Been waiting across the street for an hour,” Kash grumbled. All Ian could think was, _why?_ He grunted again, noncommittally.

“Late night?” he asked, less because he was actually interested and more because of that desperate sound in Linda’s voice.

“What do you care?” Kash said sulkily. Ian, who _didn’t_ care, said nothing.

“Where the hell have you been?” Linda voice squawked out of the walkie talkie on the counter; Ian had forgotten she’d had the cameras repaired. “Kash, I waited up until after midnight! You know the doctor wants me in bed by—” She was cut off as Kash turned off the sound.

Ian raised an eyebrow.

Kash gave him an irritated glare, obviously embarrassed. “What are you looking at? Go microwave me a burrito and stock the cooler.”

Ian, happy to oblige, swung away from the counter. Kash was just one more fucking thing that he didn’t want to deal with.

Jay. Jacob Gallagher. His little brother. He couldn’t put off thinking about it forever.

On the one hand, the douchebag had lied to him. Manipulated him. Inserted himself into Ian’s life, becoming his friend and confidante whilst hiding the truth about who he was.

On the other hand… he was Ian’s brother. And knowing that gave their entire relationship a different context.

The look of longing in the Alibi? Clearly non-sexual. Maybe Jay had been telling the truth when he had told Ian that he wanted to get to know him. It made a lot more sense now.

When you thought about it, the truth actually made Jay seem a whole lot _less_ creepy. Not a real stalker, for one thing.

And it explained why Ian had felt so comfortable around him, so fucking relaxed. He didn’t usually take to new people that quickly. He’d been 100% clear that he wasn’t remotely attracted to the kid as well, even when he’d thought the fucker was a gay stalker, which made sense as well. Like his body knew they were related even if he hadn’t figured it out yet.

And he had _missed_ Jay while he’d been AWOL, frightened off by Mickey who was so jealous and intimidated by what he saw as a Northside rich boy coming on to his fuckbuddy that he’d followed the kid home with a shotgun.

Maybe having Jay in his life could be a _good_ thing.

But then he remembered the look in fucking Clayton’s eyes as he stood passively in the doorway listening to Lip and Ian arguing, remembered his wife’s brittle hostility in their clean sterile house that sparkled with cool elegance, and he didn’t know what the fuck to think.

An hour or so later, Ian was sitting behind the counter flipping through a magazine and pretending that Kash wasn’t banging some older guy disguised in a burka in the back room.

It was sad, and kind of pathetic, and it irritated Ian because the back room was supposed to be his and Mickey’s place to fuck, but other than that Kash was the last fucking thing on his mind.

He was clearly not the last thing on Kash’s mind, though.

After the guy had left – his burka slipping embarrassingly as he passed Ian – Kash sauntered out of the store room with a supercilious: “Back to work.”

Ian turned another page. “Your fly’s down,” he observed without looking up. Kash tugged on the zipper hastily.

Ian thought that was the end of it. But the guy in the burka came back later on, this time managing to leave with his disguise intact. Ian started packing up his stuff as soon as Kash emerged, hoping for a quick getaway. Kash came behind the counter.

And started to cry.

He was bent over the table round the back of the counter, his head bowed, snivelling like a child.

Ian kind of wished he could just leave, but he said: “You okay?” anyway.

“I can’t do this any more,” Kash wept. “Live this lie.” He turned to face Ian, his eyes red. “Linda, our marriage… this life of a lie!”

Ian just stood there, not really knowing what to say. Kash was the idiot who’d got himself into this situation, who’d got married and had children even though he knew he was gay, who’d gone along with his wife’s bizarre scheme and knocked her up even after she found out the truth.

Ian couldn’t imagine ever letting himself get into that situation.

Kash stepped forward, tears spilling onto his cheeks. “What am I gonna do?” he sobbed. Ian’s eyes flicked behind him, to the camera; Kash ignored this. “Ian, if you would just… God, just give me one more chance, Ian! We’re so good together. I know I fucked up, I _know_ , but we’re so good together. We love each other… God, Ian, I love you!”

Maybe the utter horror that Ian was feeling showed in his eyes, because Kash’s face crumpled, and he turned away before Ian had a chance to reply. Which was a profound relief, because he wouldn’t have had any idea what to fucking say anyway.

That was turning into something of a fucking recurrence.

*

It was a relief to get home. Lip swung into their bedroom as he was changing, his face looking tanned and bruised. He’d been setting up the old ice-cream van with Kev.

“Yo,” he said shortly. He still wasn’t really talking to Ian.

“Hey,” Ian replied, unbuttoning his pants. He left the room without saying anything else. God, he missed his brother.

He was about halfway through his shower when the curtain was suddenly ripped back.

“What the hell is this?” Lip demanded. He was holding the West Point application pack that Ian had picked up a couple of weeks back; it had been in his backpack.

“It’s an admissions pack,” Ian said crossly, turning off the water.

“For West Point?” Lip said incredulously.

“Going through my stuff now?”

“Why not, it’s the only way I fucking find out anything!” Lip shouted. Ian reeled away from his anger. “Ian, you just graduated the tenth grade!”

“I wanted to see what it would take to get in,” Ian said obstinately, wrapping a towel around his waist. Actually, it was Mandy who’d got the pack for him, and in the midst of all the Jay drama he’d forgotten all about it.

“What, to West Point?” Lip repeated. “You’re kidding me, you’re actually serious about this shit?”

Ian, pissed off, turned to face him. “I was in ROTC for two years, so what do _you_ think, Lip?”

“I don’t know, I thought it was some kind of stupid fucked-up adolescent phase!” Lip exclaimed. “I mean, you really wanna get your ass shot off in some –stan somewhere?”

Ian frowned. “Stan?”

“Yeah, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iraqistan…”

“I guess I’m a patriot,” Ian said angrily. Lip just stared at him.

“Fuck,” he said quietly, turning to leave the bathroom.

And Ian didn’t want him to.

Because Lip was fucking right. This was the most they’d talked in what felt like forever. He didn’t want the conversation to be over.

So he said: “Don’t worry, it was really discouraging.” He sat down on the edge of the bathtub. “I need, like, a 4.2 GPA, a massive SAT score and a recommendation from the President, or some shit. Only thing I know I can pass for sure is the fitness test.”

Lip was looking down at him with the weirdest expression on his face. Like he still thought Ian was crazy, but like he was… relieved. Maybe relieved that Ian was actually talking to him about this.

Ian had never felt like more of a dick.

“Oh, so what, the army requires straight As now to get your leg blown off in Cabo?” Lip was saying. Ian didn’t say anything.

Lip looked away for a second. Then he sighed, like he was deciding something. “You really want this shit?”

Ian looked at the floor. He _did_ really want it, more than anything. After all the fucked-up shit he had been through, all the crap with his family and with Kash and the lies and now this new bullshit with Jay – there was nothing he wanted more. “Yes,” he said shortly.

“Alright then, fuck it,” Lip said. Ian looked up at him in surprise. “Let’s make this shit happen.”

“Yeah?” Ian said.

“Hell yeah,” Lip replied. “President’s a local boy, I can tutor you… You’re a shoo-in.” A smile crept on Ian’s face as Lip continued: “Still think it’s fucking stupid!”

And at that Ian was grabbing a towel and beating his brother over the head with it, chasing him into their room while Lip held up the admissions pack as a shield, and it was like old times. Like nothing had changed.

And maybe nothing had. Maybe it had all been in Ian’s head. Because here was Lip, here at his side, offering his help and support for anything Ian wanted to do, in spite of the fact that they had barely talked in months, still here for him. Still his brother. Still failing to let him down even once.

So once the mock-fight was over, and Ian had got dressed and they were laughing and sharing a smoke by the window, Ian turned to him and said: “Lip.”

And Lip said, “Yeah?”

And Ian said: “I’m gay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn you, AAumento757! I thought I was going to be able to get through this without anyone figuring it out, and then you go and guess the whole plotline right before the big reveal. Kudos, dude.
> 
> In terms of Kash's confession, I reckon it's more likely because unlike in canon-verse, Kash doesn't know about Ian and Mickey, so in my head he still has this hope that he and Ian might get back together because he doesn't realise Ian has moved on. So yeah, that's that.
> 
> I hope everyone has enjoyed The Mystery Of Jay! You can tell I really do feel bad about my absence... two chapters in two days! I have the day off work tomorrow as well, so if you're really lucky there might even be another one...


	21. My Heart Is Higher Than A Cloud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian revels in honesty. Kash is a coward.

Lip turned to look at him, snorting disbelievingly. “What?”

Ian, looking steadily at his brother, repeated: “I’m gay.”

Lip’s eyes widened. “Holy shit,” he said.

“I should have told you a long time ago,” Ian said. “I don’t know why I didn’t.”

Lip was still staring at him. “Are you sure, man? I mean… seriously?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Ian said.

“You ever tried it with a girl? Just to… make sure?”

Ian was too busy shuddering violently at the thought to answer; Lip’s eyes bugged out.

“ _Seriously?_ ”

“Fuck off, man,” Ian said, but he was smiling.

“Gay. As in… up the ass?”

Without even thinking about it, Ian punched him in the arm. “Fuck off.”

“Seriously,” Lip said earnestly. “Do you get used to that? _Can_ someone get used to that? I mean, I mean, the whole point of the digestive system is one-way traffic.” He took a puff on his cigarette. “It just is.”

And suddenly Ian was laughing, because the whole thing was so stupid. He had just told his brother that he was gay, and the only thing Lip cared about was the mechanics of it.

“What?” Lip said, clearly not having intended on being funny.

“Just is,” Ian repeated. “Like we’re only given our lungs to frigging smoke, right?”

A small smile crept into the corners of Lip’s mouth. “Well, that was a bit gay,” he said. “What you just did there, with your eyebrows? You wanna watch that.”

Ian laughed breathily, his fingers flicking up to cover his eyebrows. “Alright, fuck off, alright?”

There was a brief pause as Lip appeared to process things. “Gay,” he said resolutely after a few moments. “So I’m guessing it’s not a chick you’re banging behind Mandy’s back?”

The smile was wiped instantly from Ian’s face. “No,” he said.

“Who is it?”

“Can’t tell you,” Ian replied, raising a hand as Lip opened his mouth to protest. “I’m not going to out him.”

Lip raised an eyebrow. “It better not be fucking _Jay_ ,” he deadpanned.

Ian pushed him so hard he fell off the windowsill. “Fuck _off_ ,” he exclaimed.

“Seriously, man, be nice to the dude,” Lip said, getting to his feet again. “He was practically fucking crying when you ran yesterday.”

Ian sighed. “Yeah, I know,” he said.

“You’re a fucking asshole for not telling me about this before,” Lip said, but he was grinning stupidly at Ian.

Ian didn’t have to say anything. He knew Lip was right. All he could feel was the most incredible lightness, pouring through his body and making him feel like he could soar. Like he was free.

It was freeing, being honest. It was the first time Ian truly realised that. It wouldn’t be the last.

*

It was almost three hours later that they headed to the kitchen for a beer, laughing as they clattered down the back stairs. They had talked about everything except Mickey’s name; Ian had told him all about Kash, about Mandy, about Jay. Everything that he was thinking and feeling had been laid bare for his brother to see, the way it had always been, and it felt fucking good.

“Too slow, gayboy!” Lip snorted as he reached the bottom of the stairs first.

“Fuck off!” Ian replied, laughing.

“You guys talked?” It was Fiona, a massive smile on her weary face. “Thank fuck for that!” She leaned forward to give them each a brief one-armed hug, before pulling away. “We have a fucking problem.”

Ian looked around. Debbie was sitting at the kitchen table, her eyes red; Carl was standing beside her, biting his lip.

“What’s going on?” Lip asked.

“Liam’s missing,” Fiona said.

*

Seven hours later, Ian was back at the Kash & Grab. The difference was, this time there was a smile on his face.

Yeah, they’d had to give up pretty much everything they’d saved so far that summer to get Liam back from the massive guy who’d been holding him hostage over some stupid bet Frank had made. Yeah, Frank had screwed up as a father, yet again. Yeah, Ian’s life was still complicated.

But he, Lip and Fiona had walked down that corridor _together_ , three unstoppable Gallaghers with the same expression of determination on each of their faces. He was back in the fold, uniting the team, and he was realising how fucking stupid it was of him to think that that ever _wouldn’t_ happen.

He fucking loved his family.

In some ways, nothing had changed; it was still dangerous to be gay, he was still fucking his girlfriend’s brother, and he still had a stalker slash half-brother that he didn’t know what to do with. But he felt higher than the fucking sun; telling Lip the truth had released a fuckload of tension he hadn’t even known he’d had, and it felt amazing.

He decided then and there that he was never going to lie to someone he cared about again.

Leave it to fucking Kash to test his resolve.

He’d been in the back room with his poorly disguised fuck-buddy – or whatever – for the last ten minutes, ever since Ian had arrived, and Linda had just radioed downstairs looking for him. She hadn’t said why, but Ian jumped up to do as she asked.

Linda, for some bizarre reason, made it onto the list of people he gave a shit about.

He rapped lightly on the storeroom door. “Hey, Kash, Linda’s looking for you,” he said. There was no reply; Ian was just knocking again, repeating his former lover’s name, when the door swung open. The guy in the burka came out, looking shiftily at Ian as he passed.

Ian waited with raised eyebrows for Kash to emerge.

Which he did. In a burka of his own.

He looked back at Ian, and there was longing in his eyes. “Can you do me a favour, Ian? Can you give me a bit of a head start?”

Ian stared at him. “You’re leaving?”

“Linda’s got pre-eclampsia,” Kash said, and Ian felt a wave of disgust roll through him. That and pity, for Linda. Kash went on: “The OB wants her in bed for the rest of her pregnancy. I can’t do it.” His voice broke. “An hour, two. Please.”

He began to turn away. Ian said in a hard voice: “What’ll I tell your kids?”

Kash looked back at him for a moment, and Ian knew in that moment that if he had asked Kash to stay, the older man would have done it. But he didn’t. Linda had been right when she told him he could do better than Kash, and now it was up to him to tell her the same thing.

Then Kash turned back, and strode hastily out of the store. The door banged shut behind him, and he was gone.

“Ian! Where’s Kash?” Linda’s voice crackled out of the walkie talkie.

Ian felt strangely empty. It had been so long since he’d felt anything but scorn for Kash that he couldn’t remember how he’d ever cared about him; however, Kash had made one final request of him. One last plea.

Should Ian honour his request? Did he owe Kash that much, for past love shared?

He moved numbly over to the walkie talkie, picking it up.

He owed Linda more.

“He’s gone,” he said, and his voice was strangely shaky.

“Gone where?” she said impatiently.

Ian took a deep breath. “He left,” he said. “He’s not coming back.”

There was silence on the other end of the connection. “I should have known,” she said eventually, her voice bitter.

“You gonna go after him?” Ian asked.

“No,” she said. “ _Fuck_. Hold on to the family you’ve got, Ian, because it doesn’t last fucking long.” Then the line was dead. She was gone.

Ian was left with the strangest feeling that he’d just been given some fucking excellent advice.

*

It was a warm, sultry evening, and Ian was high. To be fair, everyone was high; it was somewhat unavoidable, since Vee was burning all the weed that Kev had grown in a massive bonfire that the entire neighbourhood was uproariously attending. Kids were toasting marshmallows, everybody had a bottle of something in their hand, music was blaring, and a generally good time was being had by all.

Only Ian felt like there was something missing.

“Ian, my brother!” Lip exclaimed, bounding up to sling an arm around Ian’s shoulders. “You need to stop moping.”

“I’m not moping,” Ian said with an eye-roll and a smile.

“Look, Mandy’s over there,” Lip said, gesturing with his beer bottle. He lowered his voice. “Is the guy you’re fucking here too?”

Ian couldn’t help it; he scanned the crowd. He couldn’t see Mickey. “Don’t think so.”

Lip laughed. “Probably a good thing, huh? That could be fucking awkward.”

Ian refrained from commenting that it already had been.

“Uh oh,” Lip said suddenly, his body stiffening. “Don’t look now, but there’s a Northside fucker on the approach.”

And there, walking tentatively towards them, was Jay.

Ian’s first instinct was to run. But he didn’t. He remembered what Linda had said; he remembered what Lip had said. Jay might have lied to him, but he had lied to his brother as well. His lie had been worse, and Lip had forgiven it. Because that’s what family does.

He disentangled himself from Lip’s slightly drunken embrace. “Hey,” he said as Jay got to him.

“Hi,” Jay replied, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Lip looked from one to the other. “I’m gonna leave you guys to talk,” he said bluntly. “Hey, Mandy!” He took off, stumbling around the bonfire to where Mandy was chatting to a couple of her friends.

“Haven’t seen you lately,” Ian said.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d want to,” Jay replied, and now that Ian was listening for it he could hear the slightly clipped, formal Northside accent. The same as Clayton and his uptight wife.

“Neither was I,” he said honestly.

Jay sighed. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he said. “I didn’t know if you’d want anything to do with me, not after seeing my parents that time, and I just wanted to get to know you.” He scratched his head. “I thought maybe if you knew me better, you wouldn’t care, but then as time went on it got harder and harder to tell the truth… I don’t know. It was stupid.”

“I know all about the truth being hard to tell,” Ian said with feeling. “Look, I don’t exactly know how I feel about you being my… my brother… but I’ve kind of missed having you around.”

Jay smiled. “Me too,” he said.

Ian grinned back. “So…” he said, taking a sip of his beer. “How’d you find me, anyway?”

Jay shrugged. “I didn’t even know you existed until you came to see my dad,” he said. “When you and Lip were there… I was supposed to be at a friend’s house, but I came home early. I was upstairs. I heard everything.”

“Must have been weird,” Ian said.

“It was,” Jay agreed. “I’m an only child, though, and I always wanted a brother… I don’t know, I just decided I wanted to find you. Obviously I couldn’t ask my parents where you lived, but I heard my dad talking about some bar Frank always hung out at.”

“The Alibi,” Ian said.

“Yeah,” Jay replied. “So I looked it up online and went to check it out. Frank wasn’t there. I went back a few times, but I could never find him. I guess I was just going at the wrong times, I don’t know. I was about to give up, when one night I saw Lip. He was drunk, hanging out with the guy behind the bar… talking about you. He said he missed you.” Jay bit his lip. “The guy behind the bar – Kev – said that maybe he’d get a chance to hang out with you at your birthday party that weekend. So I came back then.”

Ian frowned. “Lip said he missed me?”

“Yeah,” Jay said. “I guess you guys had a fight or something?”

“Something like that,” Ian mumbled.

“Well, anyway, I came back at the weekend, bumped into you, pissed off your girlfriend… and somehow wound up becoming your friend. I should have told you sooner, I know.”

“I get why you didn’t,” Ian said.

Jay hesitated. “Are you and Lip okay now? To be honest, it’s kind of seemed like you’ve been fighting the whole time I’ve known you.”

“Yeah, we’re okay now,” Ian said. He sighed. “We weren’t exactly fighting. I didn’t tell him something I should have done, but I have now. So I do get where you’re coming from.”

“Was it that you’re gay?” Jay asked. Ian shot a look at him; he gazed steadily back.

“How did you know?” Ian asked in a low voice.

Jay shrugged. “I watch people. Obviously I’ve been paying more attention to you than most. Plus when Mickey came barrelling through my door with a shotgun, that seemed to clinch it.”

Ian grabbed his arm. “Look, Fiona and Lip know I’m gay, but they don’t know about Mickey.”

“I won’t tell them,” Jay said. “That actually hurts a bit, you know.”

“Sorry,” Ian mumbled, releasing him. “I just don’t think it’s fair to out him, you know?”

“Sure,” Jay said agreeably. “He seems like the kind of guy who would be quite self-conscious about it.”

Ian laughed. “That’s putting it mildly.”

“Well, yeah,” Jay said. “You know, there’s one thing I don’t get, though.”

“What?”

Jay shrugged. “When Mickey came to my house, any idiot could see he was jealous. He thought I was fucking you.” He paused. “I’m straight, by the way. I know you must have wondered the same thing. But he saw a few family photos and saw my name written on a couple of books, so he figured it out pretty quickly. But he still warned me off you. Why do you think he did that?”

Ian considered this. “I have no idea,” he admitted. “I don’t know why Mickey does half the fucking things he does.”

“Do you think maybe he was trying to protect you?” Jay asked.

Ian frowned disbelievingly. “Mickey doesn’t really protect people,” he said. “Especially not guys. He’s the fucking definition of closeted.”

“Well, maybe there’s more to him that that,” Jay offered. “Maybe he actually cares.”

And even though that was the most unlikely thing on the planet, Ian’s heart soared at the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know I said I would try and have this out a couple of days ago, but for some reason it was a little trickier to write than some of the others. In my defense, it's my birthday tomorrow and I've been sorting out my social life!
> 
> More Gallavich next chapter, I promise!
> 
> I also wanted to explain something, since to me it's very important that anything non-canon that happens ONLY happens as a result of Mandy and Lip not knowing Ian is gay. So in my head, Lip was going out and getting drunk a lot more because he was sad that him and Ian were drifting apart over Ian keeping secrets, which was when Jay saw him at the Alibi, hence Jay bumping into Ian at his birthday and becoming involved in his life. In canon-world, Lip was not out drinking that night, so Jay never found Ian, and eventually gave up on finding him. And hey presto, anything can happen!


	22. Blissful And Fucked Up At The Same Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fucking Mickey is like a high Ian is constantly chasing. So much so that he realises that he's been missing other things going on around him...

”That the kind of leadership you plan on bringing to the army?” Mickey asked, pointing a sarcastic thumb back at the door of the Kash & Grab that Frank had just pushed through.

Behind the counter, Ian slid the twenty that Frank had, at Mickey’s smilingly threatening behest, produced to pay for his groceries into the till. “Said last night’s bottom.”

Mickey was flicking through a magazine on the counter. “Whatever,” he replied insouciantly. “Liking what I like don’t make _me_ a bitch.”

His eyes flicked up to meet Ian’s, and he almost smiled. Almost.

Ian, who had no issue grinning right back, did so. He had been thinking for nearly a week now about the comment Jay had made about Mickey caring about him; as unlikely as that seemed, he couldn’t help but want it to be true. So much so that he was becoming careless.

“The fuck you smiling about?” Mickey said, sounding slightly unnerved.

Yeah, _that_ kind of careless, showing Mickey that he might actually be happy. Ian pulled in the corners of his mouth.

“Nothing,” he said, but his cheeks were still twitching. He looked around the store. “Maybe the fact that this place is empty.”

Mickey gave one of the gorgeous, tongue-chewing, roguish grins that made Ian’s cock swell in his pants. “So?” he said nonchalantly, eyebrows raised.

Ian was already moving out from behind the counter. “So lock the door,” he said, walking back to the store room without waiting to see if Mickey would follow his instruction.

He didn’t need to. He knew Mickey would.

It was a couple of minutes before the older boy made his way into the back room – he liked to take his time, almost as if he had to show that he wasn’t desperate for Ian the same way Ian was desperate for him – which gave Ian time to think. The last time they’d had sex – the night before – had been a brutally fast, five-minute affair in the alley behind the Alibi. The time before that – the last _proper_ time - Ian had tied Mickey’s hands to the shelving unit with a belt.

And Mickey had fucking loved it.

Ian wanted to provoke that kind of reaction again. The feeling he got when Mickey gasped out his name – his _first_ name – was on another level from anything they’d done before. The headiness of making Mickey moan in a way he didn’t think anyone had before was like a high he wanted to experience over and over again.

But he was nervous. It had kind of happened by accident last time, and he didn’t know if he could initiate it again. Mickey was jumpy enough as it was. Ian knew he was good at fucking – good at topping – but this was new territory for him. He didn’t want to freak Mickey out.

These thoughts were pretty much driven out of his head as Mickey sauntered into the room, sliding his jacket off as he went. That smile… if Mickey had any idea how much power he held over Ian with just his smile, that jubilant liberated smile, how much it fucking _unravelled_ Ian… well, it was probably a good thing he didn’t know. It would either make him run a mile or make him unbearably cocky, depending on what mood he was in.

“What are you staring at, Gallagher?” Mickey said playfully. “Start stripping.”

Ian couldn’t help it. A grin stretched so wide across his face that it was practically hitting his ears. He pulled off his t-shirt in one smooth motion, tossing it across the room so that it landed in a little crumpled heap over by some of the boxes of beer Linda was keeping aside for the ice cream truck. Mickey made no motion to do the same, watching Ian speculatively with his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth; realising this; Ian slowed down, kicking off his shoes and peeling off his socks so that he was standing in front of the other boy in just his jeans.

He let his hands slide down his body, feeling the curves of his own abs under his fingers. He saw Mickey’s mouth twitch with a barely-suppressed smile as his fingertips slid below the waistband of his pants; he ground his teeth into his lower lip as he watched Ian undo the top button of his jeans, sliding the zipper down.

“Come on, Gallagher,” Mickey murmured, almost under his breath.

“You want something, Mick?” Ian asked teasingly. Mickey grinned again, his teeth glinting in the too-bright neon light of the store.

“Take them off,” he said, his voice commanding. Ian obeyed, pushing his pants slowly past his hips and letting them fall to the floor. He stepped out of them, kicking them away, and stood waiting.

Mickey seemed to be in no hurry, looking appreciatively at Ian standing there in front of him. If it had been anyone else, Ian might have felt uncomfortable under the near-naked scrutiny, especially since Mickey was still fully dressed himself, but this was Mickey. Ian couldn’t feel uncomfortable around Mickey, not when he had that gleam in his eye and bulge in his pants.

“Now the boxers,” he said at last, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips. There was a grin on Ian’s face as he peeled off his underwear, his cock springing out already rock-hard. He let the boxers drop to the ground, nudging them away with one foot to follow his pants.

“Fu-uck…” Mickey hissed quietly, staring at Ian with such desire in his eyes that Ian had the sudden, almost irresistible urge to kiss him.

He didn’t, of course – Mickey would have beaten him to the ground – and his patience was rewarded when Mickey tugged off his own t-shirt. Bit by bit, his beautiful, pale chest was revealed, making Ian’s breath hitch in his throat. Mickey heard – of course – and the corners of his mouth twitched.

As did his cock, quite noticeably.

“Like what you see?” Ian asked cockily.

“Not bad,” Mickey said in an airy manner. He grinned wickedly. “Seen better.”

Ian moved so fast he hardly knew he’d done it; a second later, Mickey was pinned to the wall, his wrists held tightly above his head. “No, you haven’t,” Ian said. He ground his pelvis into the older boy’s, relishing the returning thrusts Mickey gave. Mickey said nothing; after a beat, Ian said again: “ _No_ , you haven’t!”

“Hit a nerve, huh, Gallagher?” Mickey whispered teasingly. Ian responded by plunging down to bite on Mickey’s nipple, and suddenly the other boy was a lot less cocksure and a lot more gasping-writhing-helpless mess.

“Still had better?” Ian said in a muffled voice, his mouth still on Mickey’s chest.

“Fuck!” Mickey gasped. “Fuck, no, okay?”

Instantly, Ian released Mickey’s wrists, dropping to his knees and wrenching Mickey’s pants and boxers down. He sucked the older boy’s cock into his mouth, lapping ferociously on it, every deep shuddering groan that Mickey made only serving to enlarge his own appendage.

Mickey bucked in the special way that Ian had come to recognise as meaning that he was about to come; he pulled away immediately, sitting back on his heels to look up at Mickey’s gorgeously tortured expression.

“Motherfucker!”

“Don’t come,” Ian said roughly. “Don’t come until I say.”

“The fuck, Gallagh—” Mickey was cut off as Ian stood up fluidly and turned him around, bending him over in the familiar position over the shelves. He licked his fingers, pressing them against Mickey’s hole. Mickey sucked in a sharp breath.

“I mean it,” he said warningly. “Don’t fucking come.”

Mickey made a noise that could have been anything from agreement to an expletive; Ian ignored him, pushing his finger inside Mickey and grazing his prostate. Mickey bucked against him.

“Don’t come,” Ian said again.

“Fuck!” This time the sound was clear; definitely an expletive. Ian smothered a chuckle, inserting a second finger.

“Are you going to come?” he asked insistently.

“Fuck! No!”

“Don’t come until…”

“Until you say, I fucking got it,” Mickey interrupted. Ian smirked widely. Mickey couldn’t see him from this position.

He judged Mickey was stretched enough for what he wanted; the older boy liked it a little rough in any case. He lined himself up, pushing slowly inside against the guttural groans Mickey was making. When he was balls deep, he eased out again, repeating the slow-and-steady thrusting until Mickey was writhing in frustration underneath him.

“Shit, Gallagher, please—” There was a sudden silence as Mickey slapped a hand over his own mouth. Ian was getting a little tired of Mickey shutting himself up every time he said anything in bed that could possibly be construed as weak. He stilled.

“Take your hand away from your fucking mouth,” he said in a hard voice. “Do it.”

Slowly, slowly, Mickey obeyed.

Ian bent over Mickey, pressing his chest against the other boy’s back and relishing the feel of their blended sweat. The change in angle made Mickey shudder underneath him, and Ian ground his hips into the older boy’s a little more. The feeling was fucking amazing.

“Tell me what you want, Mick,” he murmured into Mickey’s ear.

And Mickey said quietly: “I want you to fuck me hard, Ian.”

His voice was so uncharacteristically soft and even that Ian took a moment just to replay it in his head; the sound of his own name, handled so gently on Mickey’s tongue like a promise, sent shivers running down his spine straight to his groin.

Just for a moment, Ian just held himself in the moment of pleasure that Mickey’s words had elicited in him. Then he drew away from the older boy, and the next moment he was slamming into him as hard as he could, as per Mickey’s request.

“Fuck, Ian, fuck, fuck…” Mickey was muttering. Then: “I’m gonna…!”

And Ian could feel that Mickey was holding himself in, because Ian had told him not to come until he said to.

“You can come,” Ian managed to get out past his own deep moans. And as they came together: “Shit, Mickey, fucking hell!”

Mickey collapsed in a shuddering heap on the floor, but he still managed to give Ian a smug grin.

*

A month later, Ian felt as though he were floating on air. Sure, life was never peaceful in the Gallagher household – Fiona had slept with some married douchebag from her old high school, Ethel had flirted up an innocent storm with one of Kev’s basketball recruits, and Frank, if he was to be believed, had killed Dottie Corones with sex – but for Ian it had been a four-week haze of sex and happiness.

Fucking Mickey had never been so incredible. Every time, Ian felt like he was pushing the other boy’s limits just a little more, getting a little closer to a person who could actually admit to caring. Maybe that was just wishful thinking, but quite frankly he didn’t give a shit; nothing, _nothing_ , compared to the sound of Mickey’s voice forming Ian’s name. Nothing even came close.

Mickey was not the only area in which Ian’s life was starting to take shape. Jay was, as always, at the Gallagher house pretty much every day; this time, Ian was starting to realise from the other side of the perspective how awesome honesty was, because Jay finally telling him the truth had had the effect of removing the vagaries and awkwardness from their relationship. Ian could honestly say that Lip was the only person he felt closer to.

Because of course, best of all, he had Lip back. Having his best friend, his confidante, properly back in his life was so fucking awesome that Ian had to stop himself from grinning every time Lip walked in the room.

And then he remembered he was allowed to smile around Lip. It was so fucking confusing trying to remember what facial expressions he was allowed to use and when.

Until. Fucking Karen Jackson, the only blip in an otherwise spotless summer. Ian had never liked her, but it had been none of his business when she was just a girl Lip was fucking. Alarm bells had rung when Lip had confessed, way back when she dumped him, that he might be falling for her; then they’d found out she’d screwed Frank, and she’d fallen even further in Ian’s estimation. He couldn’t have had more disgust for her if he tried.

And yet, somehow, Lip managed to get past it. Ian could only assume that the sex was fucking amazing; he himself shuddered to imagine touching that slim, well-used body. It wasn’t even like she had a good personality. She was a bitch and a whore. She’d described herself pretty well in the tattoo she’d got up her arm.

_“Do you think it’s possible for a guy to be named Jody and not be a douchebag?” Lip was strolling through the mall, Mandy and Ian following behind with bags on their arms._

_“Ever thought about calling him Chody?” This was from Mandy; Ian frowned at her. He didn’t want her encouraging Lip. His obsession with Karen’s latest bang – or non-bang, whatever – was bordering on the unhealthy._

_Lip turned around and grinned at her. “Tool hijacked my sex buddy,” he said._

_“Revisionist history,” Ian commented._

_Lip frowned. “What?”_

_“More than a sex buddy,” Ian said. Lip shook his head hastily._

_“No, that was just my little brain doing all the thinking while my ass was doing all the talking.”_

Yeah, right. Later on Ian had caught him reading through a background check that he’d sweet-talked Tony into running for him. It was getting fucking ridiculous, and Ian had said so. _“You’re like Liam when someone touches one of his toys.”_

Lip had acted like he hadn’t even heard what Ian had said. He’d still been harping on about ways to get rid of Karen’s new beau when they’d set up the TV for Debbie’s sleepover – although he had managed to lay off for long enough to express incredulity that the scantily-clad hookers prancing about on the screen did nothing for Ian – and frankly by then Ian had had enough. It had been the discovery that Lip was paying Carl to follow Jody around, however, that had pushed him to the point of actually saying something.

_“Let it go, man,” he said, bent over some geometry theorems at his desk in their room. He’d never really been the confrontational type, but sometimes you had to fucking speak up._

_Lip stood up from where he was sat on Ian’s bed, moving over to his own to change his shirt without speaking. Ian followed him._

_“What do you want? You wanna marry her?” he asked sarcastically. Lip still didn’t reply; Ian figured that the reminder that Jody was proposing to Karen still stung. “Be with her forever?” Ian continued._

_“I’m just looking out for her, she’s my best friend,” Lip said quietly without turning around. His hands were shaking as they clutched his discarded shirt._

_“No, I’m your best friend,” Ian said authoritatively. “She’s your fuck buddy.”_

_Lip slung his shirt over one shoulder and turned around heavily. “No, you’re my brother who should shut the fuck up,” he snapped, pushing past Ian._

_“Friends usually want what’s best for each other,” Ian said, trying a different tack. “This could be the best thing for Karen.”_

_“Oh, so now you know what’s best for everyone?” Lip said scornfully, pulling a cigarette out of the pack he’d taken from Ian’s desk. “The kid who wants to die for a country that thinks he’s one of God’s mistakes?”_

_Ian bit down hard on his tongue to stop his natural retort. That had been below the belt, and Lip knew it. He reminded himself that his brother was hurting right now._

_Carl, who up until now had been lying back on Ian’s bed listening in to a conversation he only half understood, clearly decided now was the time to participate. “A shrink at school says I’m one of God’s mistakes.”_

_Ignoring this, Ian said loudly: “The girl has_ whore _tattooed on her arm. She fucked Frank just to get back at you.”_

_“What?” Carl exclaimed._

_“You need to shut the fuck up!” Lip spat, pointing his finger dangerously close to Ian’s face._

_“So, what?” Ian said. “You get her to dump the guy, stick around? For when Carl gets his first woody so she can work him too?”_

_Lip grabbed Ian angrily by the shoulders, pushing forcefully past him and out of the room. Ian watched him leave, his ears buzzing loudly enough that he_ almost _didn’t have to hear Carl tell the more-than-slightly disturbing story about how he had already had his first woody._

Ian hadn’t spoken to Lip since, and now there were a bunch of kids arriving for Debbie’s faux-birthday party – one of Fiona’s bright ideas, born out of guilt – that frankly, Ian could do without having to chaperone. He’d promised Debs, though, so he settled himself on the green armchair while the kids arranged themselves around the couch. Carl had invited some skinny kid with greasy hair whom Debs was eyeing with all the subtlety of a rock; a skanky blonde was stretching her long legs across the sofa, while Ethel and Debbie’s geeky friend found corners to squeeze into. Jay was there too, high-fiving Ian and dumping pillows to make a kind of nest in front of the couch.

“You want popcorn, Holly?” Debs was asking the wannabe-Karen, but Ian was no longer listening, because Mandy had walked in the room, and he’d never been more relieved.

He jumped up. “Hey,” he said.

Disregarding the company, she walked straight over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Hey,” she said, a massive smile on her face. She leaned forwards to kiss him, and he reciprocated as enthusiastically as he could muster. Lip was still on his mind.

After a minute or so, Carl said loudly: “Get a room!”

Ian pulled away hastily. “Fuck off,” he said. Mandy laughed.

“You’ve got lipstick on your face,” Carl’s unwashed friend said.

Ian wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. The stains coming off were fucking _maroon_. He would never understand girls.

He followed Mandy past the kids into the kitchen to grab a beer; once there, she turned back to entwine herself in his arms once more. “You know what day it is?” she asked flirtatiously.

“Uh… Saturday?”

She rolled her eyes. “We’ve been dating for eight months today,” she said.

As she had made a point of informing him what day it was every month like clockwork, Ian might have been expected to remember that. But he hadn’t. Mandy never seemed annoyed that he had forgotten the date they first started dating; in fact, she appeared to quite enjoy reminding him exactly how long they had been together.

“You’re going to have to lose it at some point,” she whispered in his ear. “Maybe tonight’s the night.”

“I’m chaperoning Debbie’s party, Mandy,” Ian said.

She laughed. “Oh, come on, lighten up. This is the longest I’ve ever gone without sex!” She leaned forward, burying her face in his chest. “I love you, Ian.”

Ian felt her there in his arms, and his chest felt tighter than it ever had before. A bitter, bitter taste was spreading across his tongue, and it had nothing to do with the shitty beer. He knew, knew unequivocally, that he would never, ever have sex with Mandy. The idea of fucking her was as repulsive to him as the idea of fucking Fiona would have been. Even kissing her felt strange and wrong. She was one of his best friends, but that was all they were supposed to be. His entire body rebelled, even against the way he was holding her now, the way she clutched possessively onto him. He knew that he couldn’t keep this up much longer. He was no Kash.

“You shouldn’t,” he said abruptly, pushing her away from him. He strode back into the living room and back to the green chair, ignoring the hurt look she gave him, and definitely ignoring the over-perceptive glance he got from Jay as he passed him.

*

A couple of hours later, Ian was still sitting in the armchair, rubbing his eyes with one hand in the darkened room while some woman was impaled in the shower on the TV screen.  Ethel was chewing popcorn loudly while Carl’s friend – Little Hank, apparently – sniffed surreptitiously at Holly’s hair. Mandy had gone outside for a smoke over an hour ago, and hadn’t returned; he guessed he must have really upset her earlier. He felt like an asshole; Lip hadn’t come downstairs either, opting to avoid Ian by hiding in his room.

A scream from the TV set broke through Ian’s reverie, and he jumped up abruptly. Jay was watching him, but no one else so much as looked up.

“Go and sort that shit out,” Jay said quietly. Debbie shushed him crossly, but Ian smiled.

“Thanks,” he murmured, moving over to the stairs.

Lip wasn’t in their room, but that wasn’t exactly a surprise; since Debbie had dragged Liam’s cot into the boys’ bedroom, he’d taken to sleeping in Fiona’s bedroom. As he approached the door, he thought he could hear a noise, like people talking. He frowned. It almost sounded like Mandy’s voice.

He figured that in itself wasn’t too much of a shock. Mandy and Lip had always got on well, and that had been exacerbated recently; what with Ian disappearing to fuck Mickey so often, he was grateful that Mandy seemed equally happy to hang out with his brother. He guessed she’d come up here after her cigarette, unwilling to return to the living room after what Ian had said to her.

He reached out a hand and pushed the door open.

There was Lip.

There was Mandy.

Buck-naked, wrapped so tightly inside each other that only the stark paleness of Mandy’s skinny legs identified whose were whose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Not To Do On Your Birthday, by me, CallieB:  
> 1\. Get so drunk you can't see your hand in front of your face.  
> 2\. Finally collapse into bed still wearing all your clothes.  
> 3\. Notice your laptop, and decide that now would be the perfect time to see if Avalonia has posted a chapter update.  
> 4\. She hasn't, so instead leave a bunch of drunken indecipherable comments all over AO3.  
> 5\. Deal with a raging hangover for TWO DAYS afterwards.
> 
> Yeah... there may have to be some Gallagher party in which some of the shizzle that went down this weekend features. For now, please excuse my poor aching head as it is responsible for the late update! I made it extra smutty to make up for the delay :)
> 
> And big thanks and kudos to romantiscue, whose comment way back on Chapter 12 somewhat inspired the cliffhanger on this one!


	23. That Got Fucking Brutal Fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title says it all, really...

For a second, Ian didn’t say anything at all. He didn’t have a fucking clue _what_ to say. His brother was fucking his girlfriend.

Then, at almost the exact same time as Mandy – who was lying on her back with her legs in the air and her head tipped back in ecstasy – let out a high-pitched, almost laughing moan, Lip caught sight of Ian.

“Shit,” he panted.

Mandy made another shrill, orgasmic sound. Ian’s eyebrows rose.

Without warning, Lip jerked out of Mandy, standing up and letting her white knees fall away from his tanned body. She frowned, propping herself up on her elbows. “What the fu— Ian!”

Her knees slammed together as she sat up, trying to cover herself. Her eyes were filled with tears. “Fuck, Ian… This isn’t what it… Okay, it _is_ what it looks like, but…” She trailed off.

Suddenly, inexplicably, Ian felt a rush of pity for her. After all, she wasn’t the only person cheating on her partner with their brother.

Before he could articulate this, Lip said: “Sorry, man.” He didn’t sound especially sorry.

And for some reason, even though Lip was the one who knew he was gay, Ian was annoyed with him.

He said, and his voice sounded strange and wooden: “This is bullshit, Lip.” Lip looked at the floor. Maybe he was feeling guiltier than he sounded.

With a strangled sound, Mandy, who had by now recovered her underwear, swung off the bed and pushed past Lip and Ian out the door. Ian watched her leave, but made no attempt to call her back. He didn't know what to say to her.

He seemed to be pretty fucking good at not knowing what to say these days.

Lip called half-heartedly: "Mandy!" He didn't seem surprised when she ignored him, walking across the hall to his bedroom. Ian followed.

"Seriously, Lip? You're not gonna talk to me about this?"

"What's to say, man?" Lip said casually. He clambered up to lie on his bed, throwing his hands up to cover his face in a tired sort of way. "You're gay anyway. What's the big deal?"

"You _asshole_ ," Ian spat, suddenly furious. His sexuality wasn't something Lip just got to toss around like it was an excuse. Like that made it okay.

"You've been cheating on her!" came Lip's muffled voice from underneath his hands. "The fuck do you care if she cheats on you?"

"I don't," Ian said angrily, and he realised that it was true. He wasn't angry with Mandy at all. He had been stringing her along, making her believe that he loved her in a way that he didn't, for far too long. She wasn't stupid; she had to have sensed on some level that what they had wasn't real. He couldn't blame her for looking elsewhere.

Lip, unaware of any of this introspection, exclaimed, "So why are you making this into a thing?"

"I don't give a shit that Mandy cheated on me," Ian said. "But you, man... how could _you_ do this?"

Lip sat up. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Ian stared. "You tell me you're fucking gay, you're doing some _guy_ behind her back, and _I'm_ the asshole?" He swung off the bed, coming up way too close to Ian's face. "You know, while you've been off fucking guys and finding extra brothers, I've actually been hanging out with Mandy. She's a fucking good person, she doesn't deserve this shit from you!"

Ian drew himself up to his full height, which was a good six inches taller than Lip, thank you very much. "I'm not saying I haven't been an asshole," he said. "But it's not your business to fuck around with! It's between me and Mandy. Besides, don't act like you give a shit about her! You were just using her to feel better about Karen getting engaged, so don't act like you're any fucking better than me. At least I didn't actually bang her."

"Oh yeah, right, you're a fucking hero," Lip said, his voice dripping with disdain. "At least what Karen and I had was real. At least what _Mandy_ and I had was real. We fucked one time and it's still better than anything she got from you."

That was enough. Ian barrelled forwards into Lip, wrestling him to the ground. "Mother _fucker_!" he shouted. "Listen to me, stupid! You think you know everything, but you know shit! You want to try being gay in this neighbourhood? You want to tell me how you would have handled the daughter of one of the most homophobic assholes on the planet asking you out? I know I've been shitty to her, okay? But she's one of my best friends, and I fucking care about her, which is more than you can say. All you care about is some skanky blonde with the word 'whore' tattooed on her fucking arm, so what does that make you, Lip, huh? Makes you _wrong_ , you fucking smart asshole!"

Lip shoved Ian off him, rolling away from him. "Shut the fuck up," he hissed.

"You know, I was actually coming up here to apologise to you," Ian said bitterly. "Not because I was wrong, because I fucking _wasn't_ , but because it sucked when we couldn't talk and I liked having you back." He stood up, looking down at Lip, who was still lying on the floor, half-propped up on his elbows. "Guess that was short-lived. I can't believe you would fucking do this to me."

He whirled around, striding out of the room without a backwards glance.

 

*

Of course, the _one_ time he would have preferred a different Milkovich, Mickey answered the door. Ian closed his eyes in despair. He wondered if it were possible for the night to get any worse; whatever Mandy had told Mickey, it couldn't be good.

Mickey didn't seem to be violent, however, which had to be a good sign. "Gallagher?"

"Hey, Mick," Ian said urgently. Mickey's eyebrows rose. Ian usually only called him Mick when they were fucking.

A cheeky lopsided grin appeared slowly on Mickey's face, and his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth in the way that Ian had come to recognise as seductive. So maybe Mandy hadn't told him anything; Mickey seemed like he was in a good mood.

Too bad Ian was about to ruin it.

"Got bored at your sleepover, huh?" Mickey was saying.

"Actually," Ian cut in hurriedly, "I'm looking for Mandy."

The grin was wiped off Mickey's face in an instant. "Why?" he said suspiciously.

"I need to talk to her."

Mickey took a step forward. "Why?" he repeated in a harder voice.

Ian shook his head. "Can't tell you," he said. "Mick... please. Just trust me."

There was a moment of absolute stillness after he said this. Mickey was looking at him with an unfathomable expression in his blue eyes, like Ian had said something momentous.

Maybe he had. Ian hadn't even thought about it when he'd asked Mickey to trust him; it was a throwaway comment, something he'd say to anyone. But trusting someone was a big deal to Mickey.

And with everything else going on, maybe it shouldn't have been momentous for Ian as well. Maybe it shouldn't, despite the odds, have made his chest pound and his mouth tip dangerously close to a smile when Mickey silently moved aside, letting Ian into the house. Trusting him.

But it did.

Ian stopped for just a second to smile at Mickey - a second that was somehow long enough for his until-now dormant cock to stir into action - before padding past him down the hall and into Mandy's room.

She didn't see him come in; she was lying on her bed with her back to the door, her shoulders shaking in a way that made it clear she was crying. It was only when he pushed the door closed with a gentle click that she sat up with a start, whirling around and halting as she saw him, her mouth falling open.

Her face was a mess. All the black shit she usually pasted her eyes with seemed to be tracked all over her cheeks, the sheen of tears coating her pale skin. Her eyes were swollen and red, and she was trembling.

"Ian!" she gasped, wiping her face messily with the back of her hand. "Shit..." She stopped trying to clean away the tears as more spilled over into her fingers.

Ian was sitting on the bed with his arm around her before he even knew what he was doing. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and for a while they just sat that way, her sobbing into his chest and leaving black marks on his shirt.

Eventually, she sat up, wiping her face for real this time. "What are you doing here?" she asked croakily. Before he could answer, she said, "Fuck, Ian, I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay, seriously," Ian said. He hesitated; but he couldn't let her go on feeling this wretched. "I'm the asshole," he said. "I... I cheated on you. Way before."

Immediately, he felt her stiffen in his arms. "What?"

"I've been fucking somebody else," he said. "I'm sorry."

"You prick," she said, and her voice was filled with such a white-hot rage that he flinched away from her. She pulled away from him. "You _prick_!"

"I'm sorry," Ian said again, helplessly.

"You made me think... I thought you were a virgin! I thought you were scared to fuck me! You fucking liar!"

"I know," Ian said. "Look, I didn't lie to you. I mean, I did, but not in the way you think."

"Who is she?" Mandy hissed. "Who's the skank you're doing? Lip knew, didn't he? That's why he was okay with fucking me."

Ian nodded. "Lip knew," he admitted.

Whip-fast, so fast he barely knew it had happened, Mandy slapped him across the face. He clutched his cheek in agony. The girl knew how to hit.

She put her face close to his. "What," she spat threateningly, "is the name of the fucking _bitch_ you've been fucking?"

"I haven't been fucking a bitch." The words tumbled out in a rush, tripping themselves up over Ian's tongue in his haste to tell Mandy the truth. "I wasn't lying to you. I've never fucked a girl."

This was obviously so far past anything Mandy had been expecting to hear that she just stared at him, her eyes widening. "What?"

"I've never fucked a girl."

"But you just said you've been fucking someone else! What..." she trailed off, her eyes bugging out. "No fucking way."

"I'm gay," he mumbled, his eyes dropping to the floor. He felt more afraid than he had done with anyone else. Telling Fiona had been easy; telling Lip had been simple. He hadn't even had to tell Jay. But Mandy... She wasn't a Gallagher. She was a Milkovich. And her good opinion meant everything to him.

"What?" she whispered.

He sat up a little straighter. Another person he should have been honest with a long time ago. "I'm gay," he said again, more clearly this time. And even though anything might happen, even though she could call Jamie and Joey - both of whom Ian had seen slumped in the front room on his way through - and they could fucking kill him, Ian still felt another load he hadn't realised he was carrying roll off his shoulders.

"For how long?" Mandy asked in a hard voice. Ian blinked. It hadn't been the question he'd expected.

"I don't know," he answered. "My whole life, I guess." He grinned. "Maybe since Justin Timberlake."

Mandy's face screwed up in disgust. "Ew!" she said. "No, JC Chasez."

Ian smirked. "No, are you kidding, he's totally gay!"

"No he isn't!" Mandy replied indignantly.

"Hello, yes he is," Ian said.

Mandy's smile faded, like she'd forgotten what they were talking about and had only just remembered. Ian's heart was aching. This was exactly why he and Mandy were meant to be best friends; even when he was telling her his greatest secret they could have a laugh.

"Are you sure you're not just making this up?" she said suspiciously.

"About JC Chasez?" Ian asked weakly.

Mandy didn't even dignify that with a smile. "No, about being gay."

"In this neighbourhood?" Ian laughed bitterly. "Why would I make that up?"

Her eyes were suddenly swimming with tears. "Why didn't you fucking _tell_ me?"

_That_ was the question Ian had been afraid of, and he had no fucking clue how to answer it. "I don't know," he said truthfully. "Lots of reasons. I was scared to tell anyone. I only just told Lip a few weeks ago. And also... I didn't want to stop hanging out with you. It really sucked that time we fought. You're like my best friend, Mandy. I know I'm an asshole." He dropped his head.

"You are an asshole," she agreed. "You're an asshole for thinking it would have fucking changed anything. For waiting until _I_ fucked up, so you get to be the fucking good guy."

Ian lifted his head again. "What? Mandy, I'm not the good guy here!'

"Yeah, well, now nobody wins," she said bitterly. "I'm down a boyfriend _and_ a friend."

Ian bit his lip. "You don't have to be down a friend," he said quietly.

She laughed mirthlessly. "Yeah, like I could even _look_ at you without thinking about you lying to my face for nearly a year. Fuck off, Ian."

Ian could feel tears pricking the corners of his eyes. "Mandy, come on, I'm sorry!"

Her teeth clamped down on her lower lip. "I believe you," she said in a muffled voice. "Look, I get why you didn't tell me, okay? But I don't deserve this! I can't look at you the same any more. It's too fucking much. Just fuck off."

"Mandy..."

"You know what's really fucking sad?" she said miserably. "If you'd just told me the fucking truth in the first place, I wouldn't have told anyone. I would have been your friend, and I wouldn't have minded. I wouldn't be losing you right now."

"You don't have to!" Ian exclaimed.

"Yeah, I do!" she shouted. "Because you fucking lied, Ian! You waited eight fucking months, longest fucking dry spell on the planet, to tell me the reason I wasn't getting any is that you like dick! You think I could _ever_ be your friend now? Fuck off, or I swear I will get my brothers and I will fucking tell them why. You think you got problems now, you've never had Mickey hunt you down with a baseball bat the size of Texas swinging in his hand."

As this was a pretty good euphemism for just about exactly what Ian had been doing a couple of nights ago, he didn't feel like he could say much of anything. Mandy was utterly dry-eyed now, her face a mask of fury. Ian stood up mutely, walking over to the door. He opened it, turning back to look at her. She glared back, immovable.

"I'm sorry," he said. She said nothing, and he left, closing the door behind him.

Only to bump straight into Mickey.

"Something up with my sister?" he asked Ian in the softly threatening tone that he usually reserved for persistent shoplifters in the store.

"Not now, Mickey," Ian said exhaustedly. He didn't think he had the energy to deal with any more Milkoviches.

Mickey moved to bar his way. "I heard shouting. And it sounded like Mandy was crying." He had a dangerously cheerful smile on his face.

Ian closed his eyes. "Yeah, she was."

"Why was my sister crying, Gallagher?"

"We just broke up," Ian said. Mickey's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. Ian cast around; none of Mickey's brothers were in sight. He said quietly: "She knows I've been... cheating on her."

There was silence as Mickey processed this, chewing on his tongue. "Cheating on her?"

Ian looked around again. "She knows I'm gay," he hissed.

Two hands hit him squarely in the chest; Ian fell back against the wall, startled. "What did you just say to me?" Mickey said. "What the _fuck_ did you just say to me?"

"Mick..." Ian started, but that was as far as he got before a tattooed fist connected painfully with the side of his head.

"You don't fuck with my sister and get away with it." Mickey's voice sounded like it was coming from somewhere far away; Ian's head was pounding, and he was making no attempt to defend himself as Mickey hit him again, breaking his nose with an audible crunch.

"Fuck, Mickey, I didn't!" he choked out. "You know I didn't..."

Mickey pushed him so hard that he fell heavily to the floor. "Shut the fuck up," he growled. His foot swung, hitting Ian's thigh painfully hard. "Get out of my fucking house."

He aimed another kick at Ian as he forced himself to his feet, blood streaming out of his nose and dripping stickily down his shirt and over his hands as he attempted to stem the flow. Slowly, Ian stumbled past Mickey - who gave him another shove for good measure - and to the front door, where Iggy was just coming in. He stared at Ian.

"Shit, Ian, what happened to you?" he asked. He looked over to Mickey. "We need to beat someone up for this?"

Ian turned around, looking at Mickey. The boy who just twenty minutes ago had offered his version of an invitation to fuck was gazing back at him completely impassively, his blue eyes cold. There was blood on his still-clenched fists, and his shirt was rumpled, riding up a little to expose the smooth pale hips that Ian had gripped and caressed and kissed and pinched a thousand times. Blood was rushing in Ian's ears as he looked at Mickey, so that he almost missed the older boy's last words.

"No," Mickey said, his voice cold. "Ian's not coming back."

And this time, when he used Ian's name, there was no accompanying warmth in the pit of Ian's stomach. There was only emptiness and despair, because that was Mickey's way of saying goodbye.

Two Milkoviches lost in one day. Nice going, Gallagher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I know. Life has happened, and writing has not. In my defence, I just moved back home, and this house is a building site, so along with all the packing and unpacking and moving furniture and hooking up my TV I've also had to deal with painters and builders and plasterers and fitters and contractors and time-wasters and several assholes, and additionally keep my tearing-her-hair-out mother from actually tearing her hair out, so... yeah. Let's pretend like that's a good excuse!
> 
> This chapter hurt me to write, probably more than any of the others :( As always, let me know if anyone is getting out of character - I worry about it more and more with all this angst! Comments are appreciated :D I swear things will get better for poor Ian soon... but then again he's really only got himself to blame for this one...


	24. I Think I Understand You Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey makes amends for his actions. Ian makes a startling discovery.

Ian had expected the Gallagher house to be quiet when he got back, but in that, as in far too many things these days, he was proved wrong. He arrived just in time to witness Debbie's skanky blonde friend - Holly - storming out the front door and off down the street, followed closely by greasy Little Hank and Carl. Fiona, who also appeared to have just pitched up in some fancy-ass car with a Steve lookalike watching on, attempted to question them as they passed; Carl only shrugged in response. Ian sighed. He wanted to crawl into bed and never fucking wake up.

It was pretty clear, once he'd followed Fiona and the pretty boy - who was absolutely fucked, judging by the way he was swaying on his feet - that that was not going to happen any time soon. Debs was red-faced and upset, and there were people milling around everywhere. Jay noticed, however, the second Ian walked in, and caught his eye.

" _You okay_?" he mouthed.

Ian just looked away.

Fiona, meanwhile, was demanding to know what was going on. Ordinarily, Ian would have shared this sentiment, but right now he gave exactly zero shits, turning to look longingly at the stairs.

"Holly left my party in the middle of the night because of something Lip did!" Debbie was yelling, folding up blankets with such fury that they quivered in response.

"You didn't," Fiona stated, glaring at Lip.

"No, I didn't, alright, I blew her off and she split!" Lip replied firmly. His eyes flickered over to Ian, and then quickly back to Fiona.

"You could have just done her so my party wouldn't have sucked!" Debs shouted, hitting Lip in the stomach with a pillow.

"Debs, she's fourteen!" Lip exclaimed.

The pretty boy, who was grinning stupidly in the corner, said in an amused voice: "Which one's Holly?"

Debs gave him a look that would have made a less drunken man tremble. "She _left_! And then Little Hank left too."

She slumped down onto the sofa.

Ian had heard enough. He didn't have enough energy left in him to deal with anyone else's dramas. Besides which, Lip seemed conveniently distracted downstairs, which meant Ian could go to bed and pretend to be asleep before he came up. He swivelled around and fairly sprinted upstairs.

He had just settled himself under the sheets to truly contemplate what a shitstorm his life had suddenly become when he heard the creak of floorboards. He closed his eyes, exhaling an exasperated breath. He didn't need to wonder who had been watching him carefully enough to notice when he left.

"Jay," he said dully without opening his eyes.

"Hey," Jay said. Ian let his eyelids spring open as Jay came to sit on the desk at the end of the bed. "Didn't go so well smoothing things over, huh?"

Ian laughed bitterly. "Yeah, that's one way to put it."

"You want to talk about it?"

"No," Ian said firmly. Jay said nothing; Ian sighed. He sat up. "I caught Lip and Mandy screwing in Fiona's room. Lip thinks he didn't do anything wrong and I'm the dick. I told Mandy I'm gay and she told me to fuck off forever. Mickey beat the crap out of me and basically life is completely shitty."

Jay absorbed this calmly, his eyes on Ian's face. At last he said. "Huh. I did wonder if there was something going on with Lip and Mandy."

Ian started in surprise. "You did?"

"Sure," Jay said easily. "She always laughs at his jokes, she's happy hanging out with him when you're not here, and we all know your brother appreciates a willing fuck."

Ian half-smiled at this. It was very rare for Jay to swear.

"In fact," Jay went on thoughtfully, "I wouldn't be surprised if they made quite a good couple."

"They're not a couple!" Ian exclaimed. "They just fucked one time."

"Sure," Jay agreed. "But you know, if Lip could just get over this whole Karen thing, I think Mandy could be quite good for him."

Ian frowned. "Really? You think?"

Jay shrugged. "She likes him," he said. "I actually think she's been struggling with it for a while, which is probably why she was so angry that she acted on it. It might be nice for Lip to date someone who actually cares about him."

"You think she likes him," Ian repeated stupidly. He thought about the way Mandy always smiled when Lip came in the room, the way she was comfortable teasing him and laughing with him, the way she repeated things he said that she liked the sound of. The way she had responded when Lip told her he liked her outfit. "How did I miss that?"

"Well," Jay said, sounding almost apologetic, "You've been a little distracted, Ian. I get why," he added quickly, holding his hands up to forestall Ian's indignant response. "I get that everything with Mickey is exciting and secret and difficult to work out. But this thing with Mandy and Lip... I think it's the kind of thing you really have to be paying attention to to notice."

"And I haven't been. Paying attention," Ian stated. Jay bit his lip.

"You have your own life," he said at last. "Which is fine. But so do they."

"I know I was a dick to Mandy," Ian said. "I just didn't want to lose her as a friend. If she and Lip want to be together... I guess I'm happy for her. I just want her in my life."

"She'll come around," Jay said confidently. "She cares about you."

Ian lay back down. "I hope you're right," he murmured. Mandy's white tearstained face, with her eyes like hard stones glaring at him, swam in his mind.

God, he hoped Jay was right.

 

*

"You're late!" came the crackle through the walkie talkie. "I needed you to open up today, Ian! I'm not supposed to be out of bed!"

"Sorry," Ian said in lacklustre tones. He was back at the Kash & Grab, and although his voice didn't reflect it, his heart was beating hard. He hadn't seen Mickey since his erstwhile lover had broken his nose, but he was due in today. Any second now, in fact.

The bell above the door jangled, and Ian's head flicked over to it so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. Then he sighed, slumping onto the stool behind the counter. It was just Karen, clutching her mother's weekly shopping list.

"Hey, Ian," she said in the sickly sweet tones that made Ian's skin crawl.

"Hi," he said flatly. She smiled a rather nasty smile.

"Have you heard? I'm getting married," she said.

"Congratulations," he replied in a hard voice. She grinned.

"Thanks," she said. "You'll have to come to the party." She frowned at him, although there was still a sly smile curving her lips. "What happened to your nose?"

Ian rather pointedly took a magazine from the rack behind him, setting it down on the counter and staring intently at it. She chuckled, but didn't comment, sailing around the store to get her groceries.

The bell jangled again, but this time Ian didn't bother looking up, gazing at the magazine without taking in a word.

Until, that is, a familiar gruff voice said, "Gallagher."

His head shot up. "Mickey," he said warily. Because there he stood, looking his normal grubbily delicious self, the security jacket stretched tight across his chest.

Mickey appeared to look him up and down, his eyes flicking across Ian's face and stopping on his swollen nose. He motioned to it with his hand.

The same hand that had broken it.

"It okay?" he asked roughly.

Ian shrugged. Before he could answer, however, Karen came up to the counter. Without taking his eyes off Mickey, Ian rang up her items.

"Seventeen fifty," he told her. She slid a crumpled twenty across to him. While Ian was getting her change, she shot a flirtatious smile at Mickey.

"Hey," she said. Mickey just stared at her. She laughed. "How's Joey?"

Mickey said nothing. She took her change and her bag of groceries, skipping over to the door.

Suddenly, fluidly, Mickey moved to bar her way.

"What's your problem, Mickey?" she asked softly. "Mad I picked your brother and not you?"

Mickey was not the tallest guy in the world. Ian towered over him. Lip had a couple of inches on him. Even Mandy was creeping up on him. But right then, in that charged second, he seemed to loom over Karen.

He said, and his voice was quiet and dangerous: "Empty your pockets."

Her face twisted in shock. "What?"

"Empty your fucking pockets," he said again.

Karen's eyes flicked over to Ian, as if appealing for his help. He folded his arms. She said crossly, "I didn't take anything!"

Mickey just waited.

"What is your fucking problem, Milkovich?" she demanded. "I paid for my shit, ask Ian!"

"Hey, Ian," Mickey said without taking his eyes off Karen, and Ian felt a familiar warm lurch at the sound of his own name, "Did she pay for the shit in her pockets?"

"There's nothing in my pockets!" Karen said shrilly.

"You won't mind if Mickey checks then," Ian said.

"You prick," she said, and Ian saw with surprise that she was crying. Mickey ignored this, reaching into the overlarge pocket of her hoodie and pulling out a box. He tossed it over her head to Ian.

"Ring it up," he said. "See, that's how shit works in this store. You want something, you fucking pay for it."

Ian, who had caught the box without looking at it, felt his mouth twitch into a smile. He knew Mickey well enough to read his subtext.

"I hate you," Karen spat, and she pushed past Mickey and out of the store.

"Don't care, bitch!" Mickey called after her, slamming the door. He turned back to Ian, and by all the gods that were good, _there_ was the beautiful smile that Ian had dreamed about. He didn't even attempt to suppress his grin as Mickey slid the bolt of the door closed. He just pushed whatever it was that Karen had tried to steal across the counter, hopping down off the stool and leading the way into the back room.

Mickey followed him, closing the door behind him, and stood somewhat awkwardly by the entrance to the room. Ian waited. He didn't feel like he could initiate this.

This had to come from Mickey.

The other boy was fidgeting, his hands twitching. "Hey, man," he said.

"Hey," Ian replied.

Mickey gestured at Ian's messed-up face almost impatiently. "Uh... yeah," he said incoherently.

And Ian, who _knew_ Mickey, said: "It's cool, man."

Mickey grinned at him.

Ian grinned back.

For a few seconds it seemed like that was all they were going to do, just grin stupidly at each other, until Mickey strode fluidly across the room, and for a moment, a brief shining moment, Ian thought Mickey was going to kiss him.

Okay, so that had been a stupid thought. But Ian didn't really give a shit right then, because what Mickey did do was to slide his fingers under the hem of Ian's t-shirt and strip it off him in one smooth motion, and everywhere his hands touched made Ian's chest tingle. Then Mickey was heaving off his jacket, and his own shirt, and the sight made the already painfully wide smile on Ian's face stretch still further.

God, what was it about Mickey fucking Milkovich? Ian tried to remember that this was the guy who had fucking _beat_ him the day before, but it was as though the details were sand slipping through his fingers. The guy who had done that to him was a different person to the Mickey who was now fumbling with the zipper of Ian's jeans, tugging them down his legs. It was as though Mickey was two people, the good guy and the bad guy, and Ian could never be sure which one he was going to get.

It didn't matter. He knew that. He was completely and irrevocably in over his head with Mickey, and he would take either one. The good guy _or_ the bad guy. Either and both.

Ian was naked by now, and he let Mickey push him backwards to sit on the pile of boxes against the wall. Inexplicably, Mickey was dropping heavily to his knees in front of him, his tattooed hands running up Ian's thighs, and Ian barely had time to wonder what the hell he was doing when _holy shit_ , his mouth was on Ian's cock.

Ian had sucked Mickey off hundreds of times, loving the feel of the older boy in his mouth, loving the power of inducing the little whimpers and groans that Mickey didn't seem to be able to control. He never minded that Mickey had never, ever returned the favour. He figured it was just a little too _gay_ for Mickey.

He minded now. Because _fuck_ , had he been missing out.

Mickey's tongue, running the length of Ian's dick. His lips, closing around the tip, kissing and sucking while his hands stroked and caressed. The feel of him swallowing Ian into his throat, his fingernails clenching in Ian's thighs. It was all sensations, and Ian could barely form a coherent thought, just feeling Mickey, gasping out Mickey's name, making sounds he'd never heard from his own throat before, sensing Mickey, holy _fuck_ , it was just Mickey, him and Mickey, and then he was coming, and he was spilling over Mickey's face, and Mickey was swallowing and lapping and licking, and Ian moaned in utter exhilaration and pleasure.

At some point, Ian became aware that Mickey was sitting beside him on the boxes, staring off past Ian as though he were embarrassed by what had happened, which made absolutely no fucking sense to Ian, because that had been an experience of cosmic proportions.

"Fuck," he panted. "That was... fuck!"

Now Mickey looked at him, and there was a smile on his face that was almost... tentative?

And Ian understood. That had been Mickey's form of an apology.

He wanted to tell Mickey that it was okay. That he got why Mickey had done what he had done. Because he did. He knew how much his words had frightened Mickey; how even saying the word _gay_ in front of him, in the Milkovich house, had brought out some kind of instinctive animal fear in the older boy. How that combined with his deep desire to protect Mandy - which was there, Ian knew, no matter how much Mickey tried to hide it - had caused him to snap.

Ian didn't hold it against Mickey. He had deserved it. He knew that.

He had no idea how to articulate any of this in a way that would make sense - in a way that wouldn't make Mickey beat him up all over again - so he just grinned at the other boy. "That was fucking awesome," he said breathlessly.

And Mickey smiled his seductive roguish smile that made Ian's breath hitch in his chest.

"Come on, man," Mickey said, picking up Ian's shirt. "Bitch'll be wondering what we're doing."

"Don't care," Ian said, but he tugged on his boxers anyway.

After they were dressed, and the bolt had once again been drawn back to allow customers into the store, Ian returned to his usual position behind the counter. He couldn't seem to stop smiling, even as Mickey opened one of the fridges and grabbed a drink, leaning in the familiar position with one foot up on the glass as he slurped it down. For once, Mickey didn't seem to mind Ian smiling.

It was almost as though he was happy to see it.

Ian flipped idly through the pages of the magazine, indulging in the pleasure of this idea. As he leaned on the counter, his elbow hit something. The box from the front of Karen's hoodie.

Ian picked it up.

His smile disappeared.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," he whispered.

"Gallagher?" Mickey was by his side in an instant, which should have been enough to elate Ian.

But he couldn't look at Mickey. He could barely breathe. All he could do was to wildly shove the box under Mickey's nose.

"What the--" Mickey stopped. Then, mirroring Ian: "Fuck."

Ian looked up then, and the eyes that met Mickey's were huge and frantic.

How the fuck was he supposed to tell Lip that his sort-of girlfriend had just attempted to steal a home pregnancy test?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happened to my angst? I don't know how this got so fluffy, but I swear it was my boys who wrote it, not me! They couldn't stand to be without each other for even a chapter...
> 
> And yes, in the show Karen confronts Lip over her pregnancy, but that is only because he enrages her by sending Mandy to seduce Jody, which obviously didn't happen here, so in my head it makes sense that she wouldn't just sit him down and tell him like a normal human being since she is incapable of doing anything mature or reasonable.
> 
> I don't like Karen, if that wasn't clear.


	25. Go On, Just Make It Worse Why Don't You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So sure, Mandy and Lip hate him, and stuff with Mickey is weird. But at least that means it can't get any worse, right?

Maybe he was a glutton for punishment, or maybe he was just stupid. Either way, Ian found himself outside the Milkovich house the next day, hands shoved in his pockets as he tried to convince Jamie to let him in.

"Come on, I've been here a hundred times before," he said.

Jamie merely planted his considerable bulk a little more firmly in the doorway. "Mickey says you don't come here any more," he reiterated simply.

"Fucking hell!" Ian exclaimed frustratedly. "Ask him again."

"Not here," Jamie replied. "Working."

Well, yeah. Ian knew Mickey was working; that was exactly why he'd chosen this morning to try and get in to see Mandy again. He didn't know how Mickey would react if he found out Ian was trying to reconcile with his sister. They hadn't exactly talked about it the day before.

Ian was still trying to wrap his brain around Mickey's behaviour over the last couple of days. Or maybe he was trying to wrap his brain around Mickey's behaviour, period; every time he came anywhere close to understanding the older boy, he went and did something else completely out of the fucking blue.

He knew Mickey was scared. Scared of who he was, scared of anyone - especially his father - finding out, scared of even admitting it to himself. That was okay by Ian. He'd felt that way himself, with much less cause. He knew that when Mickey got scared, he got angry. It was why he flipped out any time there was the slightest symbol that he and Ian were more than just fuck buddies. It was why just hearing Ian say the word 'gay' in front of him had got him swinging fists.

But Ian knew there was more to Mickey than just fear. Because Mickey _did_ care about Ian, whatever he might pretend; maybe a blowjob wasn't a conventional kind of apology, but Ian had known what it meant. You don't apologise to people you don't give a shit about.

Which brought Ian to the other person in his life Mickey gave a shit about: Mandy. Sure, Ian had deserved a beat-down for the way he had treated her; maybe Mickey, who had also been pretty shitty to her, wasn't the right guy to give it to him, but he knew that it was all mixed up in the guilt Mickey felt in betraying his sister.

Maybe all it meant was that Mickey was one complicated guy.

Ian was okay with that, too.

But he still didn't know exactly how Mickey would react if he found out Ian was still trying to make things up to Mandy, and he didn't really feel like asking to find out. Which was why he was here, now, on his morning off when he knew Mickey would be working, trying to argue his way past Jamie fucking Milkovich.

"Five minutes," he said, knowing he was begging and not giving a shit. "You can fucking drag me out yourself."

Jamie just looked at him. "Mandy says you don't come here any more as well."

"Fuck!" Ian yelled. Jamie took a menacing step forward. Ian held up his hands in surrender.

"Okay, okay, I get it," he muttered, backing down the steps. "Fucking hell."

If Ian had thought his bad day was over, he was sorely mistaken; he ran into Lip on the way home, coming back from Karen's. He bit his lip. His brother had been working the ice cream truck until late the night before, so Ian hadn't had a chance to talk to him about the pregnancy test. Besides which, they hadn't said a single word to each other since Ian had caught Lip and Mandy together.

Ian hoped against hope that the reason Lip was looking so down was that Karen had told him herself. He doubted very much that that was the case.

That would mean Karen would have to be a reasonable person.

"Hey," he muttered experimentally. Lip looked up, saw it was him, and dropped his head again.

"Hey," he replied in the airy tone he only ever used when he was beyond upset.

"You okay?" Ian asked hesitantly. He was still mad with Lip for sleeping with Mandy - a lot more, he'd come to realise, because he'd been using Mandy for relief, than for the reasons he'd actually given Lip at the time - but he wasn't used to seeing his brother look so distressed.

Lip took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. "Karen got hitched."

"That was fast," Ian said before he could stop himself.

"Yeah, well, I reckon she's just doing it to piss me off," Lip said darkly. "Douchebag can barely string two words together."

Ian didn't know what to say to that. Eventually he said, "That's why you're upset?"

Lip frowned at him. "I need another reason?"

"No," Ian said quickly. Too quickly. "Why'd you go over there, anyway, man?"

Lip shrugged. "Figured she might have seen the light."

"You're the light?" Ian asked with a smile. The ghost of a grin slid momentarily over Lip's face.

"Something like that," he said. He sighed, and stopped suddenly. Ian walked on a couple of steps before he realised, turning back with a frown; Lip said, "Look, man, I'm sorry about Mandy."

Ian felt his hands curl into fists. "Really."

Lip sighed. "Yeah, okay? I was pissed about Karen, and come on, Mandy's hot. But I shouldn't have fucked her. We were both upset, and I guess it just happened."

Ian forced his fingers to relax. "Okay," he said. He flashed a smile at his brother, and they carried on walking. Ian felt the familiar warmth spreading across his chest that told him that something wrong with the world had just been righted.

"You talk to her?" Lip asked.

Ian gave a bitter laugh. "Yeah. I told her everything."

"You told her who you've been banging?" Lip said incredulously.

He couldn't help it; Ian smirked at the idea of telling Mandy he'd been fucking her brother. He'd probably get himself killed if he attempted it, but the look on her face would be pretty fucking priceless. He said: "Everything but the who."

"How'd she take it?"

"Not well," Ian said with emphasis. Lip grimaced sympathetically, and they walked the rest of the way home in companionable silence. Ian chewed the inside of his cheek. He needed to tell Lip about Karen's pregnancy, but he couldn't think of a way to do it without opening the shakily healed rift between them once more. Christ, he was sick of fighting with his brother.

Abruptly, he stopped, wheeling around; they had just reached the Gallagher gate, and Lip looked back at him with a frown. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"To see Jay," Ian said firmly, walking briskly in the direction of the El.

"Why?" Lip hollered after him.

Ian called back: "Need to ask him something!"

If anyone would know what to do, it would be Jay. The kid was a fucking genius.

*

Ian began to lose his nerve a little on the El. Sure, going to see Jay was a pretty solid plan; his half-brother was the most insightful bastard Ian had ever met, and if there was ever a solution for a sticky situation, Jay would help him find it. But going Northside to find him... Going to Jay's house meant another encounter with Ian's real father and his bitchy wife.

Ian wasn't sure how ready he really was for that.

Still, he was desperate, so he pushed the nervousness down and strode purposefully out of the station towards Jay's house. He wondered if Clayton and Lucy knew how much time Jay had been spending with Ian. Did they even know the two of them had met?

He didn't let himself hesitate as he walked up the neat little path up to their front door, ignoring the wilted flowers in the clipped, rather forlorn front garden and heading straight for the buzzer, pushing his finger on it so hard that his knuckle whitened with the effort.

He only removed his finger when he heard the shuffle inside that meant someone was coming to answer the door. He felt something rather unpleasant flutter in his stomach, and then the door swung open, and Lucy stood in front of him.

She was a thin, pale woman, with dark hair in an 80s bob and a pinched-looking face. Looking at Ian, her eyes widened in surprise, and her nose wrinkled as though she suddenly smelled something unsavoury.

"What are you doing here?" she said, her tone wary.

Ian felt his hackles rise. He was in no mood to argue his way past yet another door guard.

"Looking for Jay," he said shortly. "Is he in?"

She frowned. "Who?"

Ian stared at her. "Jay? Your son?"

"Jacob?" she said, her voice full of surprise. She didn't sound as though it were a good surprise. "You mean Jacob?"

Ian sighed. "Yeah, Jacob."

Now her tone was definitely hostile. "What do you want with Jacob?"

"Who's taking my name in vain?" To Ian's relief, Jay appeared in the hall behind his mother. Seeing Ian, his face split into a wide grin. "Ian!"

Lucy whirled around. "You two know each other?"

"Sure," Jay said easily. "You want to come in, Ian?"

And Ian, enjoying the look of shocked effrontery on Lucy's face, pushed past her into the house. Jay gave him a manly pat on the shoulder in greeting, and for a second Ian felt calm. Jay always seemed to have the effect of making everything feel okay for him.

It didn't last long. Lucy's sharp voice cut through their moment of peace; she obviously wasn't done making herself obnoxious. "Hold up. Just how do you two know each other?"

Ian turned around with wide, mock-innocent eyes. "We're brothers," he said.

Lucy hissed like an angry cat; even Jay seemed to stop in his tracks. "Who told you that?" Lucy spat.

"Genetics," Ian replied.

"It's not true!" she cried angrily. "Don't you listen to that boy, Jacob."

Ian saw Jay briefly close his eyes and open them again. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. "Come on, Ian. My room's this way."

"Stop right there!" Lucy yelled. "You're not going anywhere with my son. I don't care what kind of relationship you think you have with him; it ends right now, do you hear? I won't have Jacob associating with someone like you."

Ian could feel his heart thumping painfully in his chest; the blood was rushing to his head. "Someone like me?" he repeated furiously.

"Southside trash," Lucy replied softly.

"Mom, shut up!" Jay said quickly. But it was too late. The damage was done.

Ian knew what he was and what he wasn't. No wonder he'd done nothing but panic on the way over here; he didn't belong in this well-ordered house, this perfect pretty life that Jay led. Seeing him in his natural environment... it was like a slap in the face. Who did Ian think he was kidding? He wouldn't get any help here. There was no help for him anywhere.

"Don't worry, I'll get out of your way," Ian said thickly. "You know, I might not be Southside trash if Clayton had stepped up, or whatever. But I'm glad he didn't. Wouldn't want any chance of turning into some stuck-up middle class bitch like you and your precious son." He cast a pitying look at Jay. "You fucking Northsiders think you're better than me? I wouldn't trade my life in for yours for any money."

"Hey," Jay said quietly. "Don't lump me in with that."

Ian turned on him. "What makes you different?" he said viciously. "All you ever do is lie to me and try to tell me how to live my life. You're just the same as your head-up-her-ass mother. At least she owns it."

"That... that's not fair," Jay said, his voice cracking as he spoke. Before Ian could answer, Jay turned and ran up the stairs, disappearing into a room at the top of them with a heavy slam of the door.

Ian felt tears prickling his eyes. He turned back to Lucy; she was looking at him with a smug smile on her face.

"Now that you've succeeded in completely alienating my son," she said nastily, "would you please get the fuck out of my home?"

And Ian, for once, did as he was told.

He was kicking himself all the way home. He was a fucking idiot; Jay had been right. That hadn't been fair. He'd just been taking out his frustrations at everything else going to shit on the one person left who actually seemed to care about him, and now he'd lost him, too.

Could the day go any more downhill?

Well, yeah, apparently it could.

Ian didn't think so at first. Just as he slouched up to the Gallagher house, he saw a tall, bald man in uniform marching down the steps from the front door. His eyes widened.

Lip had spoken about this guy months ago; he was going to put a good word in for Ian, to maybe get a recommendation for West Point. His name was Colonel McNally, and he was a war hero; having his recommendation would mean everything for Ian's application. Ian quickened his pace; having his brother come through for him would make the sting of the fight with Jay recede just a little.

"Excuse me!" he called as the colonel turned away from the gate; McNally stopped in his tracks, turning towards the sound of Ian's voice.

"Can I help you?" McNally's voice was deep and rich.

"Uh... You were just in my house," Ian said awkwardly. "Were you looking for me?"

Colonel's McNally's face cleared, and he smiled. "You Lip's brother?"

"Ian," Ian said. "Colonel Gallagher, junior ROTC."

The man stuck out an enormous hand for Ian to shake. "Colonel McNally, Department of Defence."

Ian returned the handshake with a grin. "Can I do anything for you, sir?"

"No, that's okay," McNally replied. "I left a West Point application with Lip. I wanted to deliver it personally."

Ian's heart swelled. Okay, so maybe his personal life was going to shit, but his career, his ambition... it was finally happening. He tried to keep his face professional as he said: "It's been a goal for a long time."

"Well, if I have anything to say about it, he'll reach it," McNally said.

The smile disappeared from Ian's face.

McNally continued: "Big future, your brother. The nature of combat's changing. We need all the creative thinkers we can get." He smiled. "It was nice to have met you, Ian."

Ian was numb as he shook the man's hand. He couldn't honestly return the sentiment.

*

It took a while for Ian to drag himself into the house and up the stairs into his room. Lip was sitting on his bed with a joint in his hand, but as soon as Ian came in he jumped down.

"Listen, Ian, I gotta tell you something..." he began, but Ian cut him off.

"I already know. Congratulations." His eyes flicked to the application pack, sitting on the desk under the window like it wasn't a fucking bombshell.

"Okay, but you have to understand, I didn't have a chance to mention you yet," Lip said hastily. "It's a misunderstanding, alright, I'll find him tomorrow!"

"Don't worry about it," Ian replied dully. His head was spinning. Mandy hated him, Mickey was afraid of being gay, he'd just fucked things up with Jay, Karen was pregnant, West Point didn't want him, Lucy thought he was _Southside trash_...

He became aware that Lip was speaking. Something about him being a baby about the application. Lip was holding the brown packet in his hands, and it was like Ian had zoom vision, because all he could see was that package, the army insignia printed on the front, his dreams in his brother's hands with his brother's name on them... Mandy, his best friend, the person he had trusted with everything except the thing that mattered the most because he was a fucking idiot who just fucked things up with everyone... Mickey, the guy he was stupidly, ridiculously head over heels for, the guy who would hit him one day and fuck him the next... Jay, with his bitchy mother and her perfect pink mouth, calling him Southside trash like it was nothing... Karen, Lip, Jay, _you fucking idiot_!

"Fuck! Ian, stop!"

It was like a fog was suddenly lifted at the sound of Lip's desperate cries, and he sat back suddenly on his heels, his head in a daze. How had he got to be crouched on the floor? Why were his fists bloody and painful? How had Lip got to be lying prostrate in front of him, blood dripping out of his nose and mouth and a lump swelling above his eye?

Had he done that?

"Fuck," he whispered.

Lip heaved himself to his feet. He wasn't too badly hurt; they'd been in worse scraps before. But Ian couldn't believe how he'd almost blacked out, how he couldn't remember hitting his brother.

"You can't do shit on your own," Lip muttered as he passed Ian on the way to the door.

And just like that, Ian's blood was boiling again. "Fuck you, Lip!" he said angrily. And then, before he could stop himself, before he could even think about it, he added: "You can get back to your whore. You can't be sure if her kid is your son or your brother."

There was a beat, a moment of silence. The calm before the storm.

Then Lip said, and his voice was low and dangerous: "What?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm angsting. Can't help it, can't stop it, it's happening! Just a quick note - in canon, Lip is not home when the Colonel comes to drop off the application, but that is because he is at Karen's trying to step up and be a dad. In my world, he doesn't know about Karen's pregnancy yet, so he's not out. Just like to explain these things!


	26. Backwards And Forwards Aren't The Only Directions To Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian doesn't know how he feels any more... but maybe Mickey can make him feel better.

For a second, neither of them said anything; both their chests were pumping from the exertion of their fight, and blood was dripping from Lip’s nose.

“What did you fucking say?” Lip’s voice was still at a dangerous pitch.

Ian closed his eyes and opened them again. This was Lip. He deserved to know the truth. “Karen tried to steal a pregnancy test from the store,” he said.

“The fuck!” Now Lip’s voice had reached shrieking levels; Ian winced. “Why the _fuck_ didn’t you tell me?”

Ian bit his lip. “I figured that if she was… she might tell you herself.”

A strange, twisted noise that might have been an attempt at a derisive laugh came out of Lip’s mouth. “Sure you did,” he said.

“Okay, fine,” Ian said, his temper beginning to rise even though he knew Lip didn’t deserve it. “I didn’t know what to do, okay? I was going to ask Jay.”

“Fucking Northside wisdom, huh?” Lip said angrily. “Talk to the brother who has nothing to do with fucking anything!”

Ian reeled back from the level of his fury. “I’m sorry, okay!”

Somehow this seemed to calm Lip down; he was still panting out his breaths, still looking fucking murderous, but it didn’t seem like it was Ian he wanted to kill any more.

“So she’s fucking pregnant,” he said. “ _Fuck_!”

Ian’s face twisted in sympathy. “What’re you going to do?”

“No fucking clue,” Lip replied. He looked up at Ian with the ghost of a smile. “Jay have any of his usual smartass advice?”

“Got in a fight,” Ian mumbled.

“Jesus, there anyone you _aren_ _’_ _t_ fighting with these days?” Lip demanded. Clearly distracted from pursuing this line of inquiry – which was lucky, as Ian was having trouble finding an answer to that question – he went on: “I have to find Karen. She’ll be at the barbecue, right?”

Ian shrugged. “Probably.”

“Fuck,” Lip said again. “I gotta go. Sorry about the application, man.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Ian alone in the empty house thinking about all the multiple ways he had fucked up that day.

*

Half an hour later, he found himself outside the Milkovich house for the second time that day. Maybe Lucy’s prim bitchy face made him avoid the trek back to make things right with Jay, but he could try again with Mandy. He’d managed to get back on track with Lip; maybe he could do the same with her.

His luck really did seem to be changing, because it was Mickey who answered his knock. The older boy crossed his arms at the sight of him.

“The fuck you doing here?”

“I need to see Mandy,” Ian said. He knew he sounded pleading; of all people, surely Mickey would understand his need to make things right.

“Fuck off, Gallagher.” The words were spoken without heat, but it looked like Mickey meant them.

“Mick…” Ian’s voice trailed off. This was not because he couldn’t think of anything to say – he had way too much on his mind for that – but because he was suddenly reminded by the twitch in his pants just how fucking _hot_ Mickey was.

The sun was gleaming on his pale skin, his tank top exposing his muscular arms to Ian’s suddenly hungry gaze. Yes, he needed to make things right with Mandy, but suddenly he needed Mickey even more, needed to feel him slick with sweat and hot underneath him.

The very thought of it was making him hard.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath. One of Mickey’s dark eyebrows rose slowly as he caught the expression in Ian’s eyes; a slightly incredulous, but nevertheless pleased, smile spread across his face.

“You alright there, Gallagher?” he asked teasingly.

“Need to go somewhere,” Ian hissed through gritted teeth. “No one’s home at my place.”

Mickey, being Mickey, didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. He just strolled casually down the steps as though he didn’t particularly care either way, sauntering off down the street towards the Gallagher house. For a moment, Ian just watched him walk away; he knew everything was fucked up, but he couldn’t stop himself from smiling, because the sun was shining and he got to be with Mickey Milkovich.

There was something amazing in that, he thought; no matter how bad anything got, there was always Mickey. A person could have pride in something like that. Was this what it felt like to love someone? That incredible rushing thought that soared through your chest: _I can_ _’_ _t believe I_ _’_ _m lucky enough to get to be with that guy_?

Within ten minutes, they were crashing through the front door of the Gallagher home. Ian made the perfunctory check of the rooms; satisfied that there was definitely no one home, he pushed Mickey back onto his bed.

“Never thought we’d get to bang in here,” Mickey commented. The playful, lip-licking grin that Ian loved so much was on his face. “Kinda wanted to ever since your little striptease.”

Ian blinked in surprise; he had assumed Mickey had been too drunk to remember that incident. On the one hand, it had been fucking embarrassing, and since he hadn’t known that Mickey liked cock at the time, he’d been scared he might get beaten up, but on the other hand…

On the other hand, here was Mickey telling him he’d liked it.

He stepped back from the bed, a smile of his own spreading across his face. “You liked that, huh?”

Mickey leaned back on his elbows, his tongue in the corner of his mouth. “Maybe,” he said. “Reckon you can do better.”

Ian, taking that as the challenge it was, let his hands drop to his chest. His fingers slid under the hem of his shirt, lifting it slowly up his chest; Mickey’s eyes widened as Ian’s abs were revealed inch by inch.

“Take it off,” Mickey commanded; Ian raised an eyebrow as he complied, tugging the shirt over his head in one fluid motion that set his muscles rippling and had Mickey gasping in a sharp breath.

“Like what you see?” Ian asked. Mickey’s teeth clamping hard into his lower lip was answer enough.

The last few times they had had sex, Ian had taken control, and it had seemed like Mickey liked that; today, however, it appeared he wanted to take charge. He fixed Ian with a determined stare as he said: “Kneel on the floor.”

Ian dropped to his knees. He wasn’t sure where this side of Mickey was coming from, but _fuck_ was it turning him on; maybe what he liked the most was that Mickey felt relaxed enough to do it with him.

Mickey shuffled forwards to sit at the edge of the bed. “Take my shirt off,” he said. He lifted his arms in the air.

Ian put his hands on Mickey’s knees, sliding them up his legs – his thumbs grazing just past Mickey’s twitching cock – and running them up his chest, bringing his shirt up as he went. He let his fingernails scratch Mickey’s skin gently as he lifted the shirt up, tugging it over the other boy’s head; Mickey shuddered under his touch. He tossed the shirt aside, and impulsively leaned forward to kiss Mickey’s chest; his teeth grazed Mickey’s nipple, and the older boy’s head fell back as he growled his pleasure.

“Fuck, Ian…”

As always, the sound of his own name sent a ripple through Ian’s body; he kissed Mickey’s chest again, reaching up to grasp the other boy’s shoulders with both hands as he pressed his lips to Mickey’s collar bone, his neck, his chin, his cheek…

For a second, Ian’s mouth hovered over Mickey’s. One hand was cupping the back of Mickey’s neck; Mickey was vulnerable beneath him, and in that moment Ian knew that if he kissed him, the older boy would go with it. For a second, it seemed like Mickey was willing him to do it.

Fuck, but it was tempting. The idea of Mickey’s mouth melting into his… of being able to fuse the two of them together in such a basic, tangible way, being able to do the one thing he had never been allowed to before… His lips were so close to Mickey’s that he could feel the other boy’s gentle breath, although it was getting more labored by the second.

But something was stopping him. There was some deep instinct inside him that said that this needed to be Mickey’s choice, needed to come from him, that prevented Ian from completing the kiss he longed for. He had given Mickey so much – allowed him so much – that this needed to be something Mickey gave him, when he was ready.

That didn’t make it any fucking easier to move away and kiss Mickey’s jawline instead. And suddenly Ian decided that if he couldn’t have the kiss he wanted – and God knew he wanted it, more than anything – he would win another battle.

Was he angry? No, it wasn’t anger coursing through him; it was lust and desire and probably love as well. He wanted Mickey to feel the same way he did. He wanted Mickey not to be afraid. If Mickey wouldn’t kiss him, then he _would_ fuck him face to face. They’d done it once, because Mickey’s wrists had been tied and he hadn’t had a choice, but this time his hands would be free and he would fucking like it.

He would like it. Ian was vaguely aware that he was pushing Mickey back onto the bed, his hands fumbling with the older boy’s belt buckle; his fingers scraped Mickey’s skin as he fought the tight denim for control. He would win this one; he would have Mickey the way _he_ wanted, the way they were supposed to be together. His head was full of Mickey, full of his smooth sweaty skin and muscular legs, his dirty tattooed hands that grasped Ian around the middle as they rocked together, his deep grunting groans of pure pleasure. His head was buzzing with Mickey, with the enjoyment of Mickey, with nothing but thoughts of Mickey…

“Ian, fuck, Ian! _Gallagher_!”

The sudden use of his last name brought Ian shooting back into the moment; he realised that he was pressing so hard on Mickey’s chest that the other boy was struggling to breathe.

He eased up. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Fuck,” Mickey said with feeling. Ian stared down at him.

He was balls-deep in Mickey ass.

When had that happened? He didn’t remember taking his own pants off. He didn’t remember stretching Mickey out. Maybe that was why Mickey was groaning in a slightly pained way; had he remembered to do the necessary prep?

Ian was scaring himself.

“You okay?” he said.

Mickey looked up at him in some surprise. “Yeah, man,” he said easily. He grinned. “You got fucking aggressive, huh?”

Ian couldn’t remember.

He didn’t tell Mickey that, of course; he just grinned down at him and said, “You liked it?”

Mickey smiled, closing his eyes. “Get the fuck out, man.”

Right. Ian eased out of Mickey, flopping beside him on the bed. Mickey was fumbling for smokes; Ian stared at the ceiling.

What was fucking happening to him?

“Gotta go, Gallagher.” Ian looked over at Mickey; they’d been lying there in silence for a while now, although he was too up in his own head to be able to say exactly how long.

“Where you going?” he asked. He liked lying next to Mickey, their fingers brushing almost close enough to be touching; liked forgetting about the rest of the world for a little while.

“Got a run,” Mickey said. “Dad’s expecting me.” He swung off the bed, tugging his jeans up his ankles; Ian stayed where he was, lying on his back on the bed. He had nowhere to go; everyone in his family was elsewhere.

Mickey finished getting dressed, heading for the door; as he reached it, he turned back, and for a second he just held Ian’s gaze. Then he sighed. “Gallagher,” he said. He hesitated. “Mandy’ll be home alone.”

Then he was gone.

*

This made three times that Ian had stood outside the Milkovich house with his heart in his hands that day; this time, knowing he would actually have the chance to come face to face with Mandy, his chest was pounding impossibly.

The door swung open, and there she stood; she was wearing shorts with a low-cut striped top, and her make-up was heavy on her face. Ian couldn’t help it; he smiled at the sight of her. He had missed her so much.

He barely got a second, however, before she abruptly closed the door in his face; he just had the presence of mind to stick a foot in its path, only to swear loudly as the door slammed into it.

“Fuck off!” she screamed.

“No,” he said. He pressed his whole weight against the door; Mandy was obviously doing her best to shut him out, but all the training had made Ian too strong to be held back by a girl whose appearance made most people want to give her a massive box of donuts.

“Fuck!” she yelled as he finally burst into the house; she stumbled backwards, nearly falling down until he caught her arm. She wrenched it out of his grip.

“Get the fuck out,” she spat.

“Mandy, I need to talk to you,” he said. “Please.”

She glared at him; he took that as an invitation. “I know I treated you fucking badly,” he said. “But you and me, we’re meant to be friends. You know that.”

“I don’t know shit, because all you do is lie to me!”

“You didn’t care that we weren’t fucking,” he pressed, ignoring her outburst. “You didn’t even push for it after the first couple of months. I reckon it’s because you felt the same way as me.”

“Like you know anything about how I feel!” she snarled. “Fuck you, Ian.”

“You knew we were supposed to be friends,” Ian said. He hesitated. “You like Lip.”

She pushed him hard in the chest. “Fuck you!”

“You can be with him. You’d be good with Lip,” Ian said, repeating Jay’s words. “Come on, Mandy. You can’t be mad with me forever.”

Her face contorted. “Fuck you,” she repeated quietly. “Stop telling me what I can and can’t do. You know fucking _nothing_. Just fuck off. I have nothing to say to you.”

“Mandy—”

“No,” she said, a deadly calm in her voice. “Just _no_ , Ian.”

And just like that, all the rightness in the world that Mickey had given him dissipated in an instant, and Ian was alone on the sidewalk in front of Mandy’s house, and there was no one, _no one_ he could turn to.

Nothing could be worse than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arghhh, more massive breaks, I know, I know, but this time I had several genuine excuses! Three holidays and several parties later I just did not have the time to write (it's a hard life, right?). 
> 
> I hope this chapter is okay - once again I felt a little rusty getting back in Ian's head, and also it's got to a point in Season 2 where Ian really doesn't feature very much, and Mickey not at all, so there's a lot of improvisation! Also as an aside it's killing me, because I really can't figure out how Mandy's ever going to forgive Ian, and I really need her to for my peace of mind! I'll figure out a way... I hope...
> 
> As always, comments and concric give me much joy, and if anyone is getting OOC I need to know, as I'm re-panicking about it now I've come back to writing this fic!


	27. Out Of The Mouths Of Alcoholics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian gets advice from an unlikely source.

It was the following morning, and Ian found himself at The Alibi, drinking a large beer next to, of all people, his father. Or more accurately, he thought morosely, the man he’d _thought_ was his father for most of his life. It was easier to still think of Frank as his father; hell, he was no more fucked up than Ian’s real sperm-donor.

And wasn’t Ian just proving himself to be his father’s son in that respect?

“Son,” Frank said blearily, raising his glass slightly as Ian slid onto the stool beside him. Clearly he hadn’t let himself get caught up in the specifics either.

Ian ignored this thin overture, accepting the beer that Kev passed across the bar without needing to be asked and gulping it so quickly that he nearly choked. Frank paused in his own attempts to drink himself under the table to thump Ian heavily on the back.

“Bad week?” he asked.

“The worst,” Ian replied with feeling.

Frank was regarding him with an expression that could only be described as speculative. He took a large slurp of his drink, draining the glass, and slammed it down on the counter. “Kevin, my man, another,” he said expansively. “And one for my son here.”

“He already has one, Frank, and I’m trying to cut down on the underage shit,” Kev said.

“Don’t be a pussy,” Frank drawled; Kev rolled his eyes, but he poured the drinks anyway. Ian raised his eyebrows in some surprise; apparently there was actually a plus-side to having an alcoholic for a father.

“So,” Frank said when the beers were in front of them. “Ian. _Spill_.” He cackled. “What’s eating ya?”

Ian frowned. “What do you care?” The question was not loaded; he was genuinely baffled. Frank wasn’t exactly the sharing-is-caring type.

Frank, predictably, was offended. “See, this is what I get,” he said, addressing the comment to Kev. “I try to give some advice, father to son, and this is what I get.” His voice took on a melancholy tone. “They grow up so fast.”

Kev’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. “Not going to even touch that,” he said, backing away towards Kermit at the other end of the bar.

Frank immediately turned back to the remaining member of his unwilling audience. “Ian, you know, if there’s one thing I need to teach you, it’s that there’s only one thing in this life that’s really important.”

“Speed?” Ian quipped. Frank took a moment out of being a philosopher to cackle.

“Okay, two things,” he said with a grin. “But you know what the other one is? Family! We’re family, son. You and me. Nothing more important.”

And maybe it was just that Ian was having a shitty time of things, or maybe Frank had accidentally said something actually useful, but for whatever reason Ian was compelled to actually say what was on his mind. “I’m not doing a great job with family right now.”

Frank clapped him heartily on the back again. “You kidding? Here we are, enjoying some quality father-son bonding time over a drink like _men_.”

Ian snorted. “You weren’t exactly the family I had in mind.”

His father pushed a hand through his lanky hair. “Is it Carl? I bet it’s Carl.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “You know, I think that kid might be a genius.” He sniggered. “A psychopathic genius, but most geniuses are psychopaths, right?”

“Carl’s not a psychopath,” Ian said wearily.

“So it’s not Carl,” Frank replied meditatively. “Come on, buddy! What’s getting you down? You can lean on your old man! By the way, do you know anything about life insurance?”

Something was rising up in Ian, a hot, corrosive feeling that was bursting to get out of him, and suddenly offloading onto Frank seemed like a good idea. If there was one relationship he _didn’t_ give a shit about fucking up, it was this one.

“Okay,” he said, ignoring the strange comment about insurance. “I’ll _lean_ on you, shall I? I’m gay.”

Frank seemed to have no reaction to this other than to absent-mindedly scratch his ear; Ian repeated, loud enough for Kev to look over from where he was wiping glasses: “I’m _gay_.”

“Called it,” Frank said airily. “Is that it, son? ‘Cause let me tell you, there’s a fine tradition of homosexuality in this country.” He scratched his ear again. “Come to think of it, most of them were geniuses as well. Oscar Wilde? Da Vinci? And that politician, the one they made the shitty movie about. What was his name?”

Ian stared at him.

“Harvey Milk,” Kev said. Then, when Ian turned to stare at _him_ , he held up his hands. “Shit, sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“ _That’s_ the one,” Frank said affably.

“Oscar Wilde was Irish,” Ian found himself saying rather woodenly. Frank gave him a blank look. “You said homosexuality in this country. Oscar Wilde and Michelangelo aren’t American.”

“Yeah, yeah,” his father said, waving a hand. “What about the scrawny blonde kid who was in that sitcom, huh? Neil Patrick Harris?”

“Ellen DeGeneres,” Kev put in. “American icon.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ian interrupted. “Look, that’s not the point—”

“Is there,” Frank slurred, “a boy involved? Because I’ve got to tell you, if you’re looking for sex tips, homosexuality is not my speciality.” He gave a slightly leery grin. “Though I might have a _few_ pointers.”

“No thanks,” Ian said with a shudder. “It’s not even about that, okay?”

“Then is it about that girl you’ve been toting around on your arm the past few months?” Frank asked casually. “She’s a looker,” he added as an aside.

Ian, for once, was shocked into silence.

“Holy shit,” Kev, who had never been the quickest thinker, said. “Mandy didn’t know?”

Ian shook his head miserably. “I didn’t tell anyone except Fiona,” he said, and then the words were pouring out. “I didn’t even tell Lip, and that basically drove us apart, and now we’re barely speaking. Especially since I didn’t tell him his girlfriend might be pregnant. Not that she’s his girlfriend. And he was supposed to be helping me with my West Point application, but that’s fucked up now. Mandy won’t speak to me since I told her the truth. I fucked things up with Jay as well. And M… And the guy I’m seeing is so far in the closet he can’t see his own asshole. Shit. _Shit_.”

Kev looked suitably appalled; Frank, on the other hand, merely gulped down the last of what Ian realised had actually been his drink. “I think my son needs another beer,” he said to Kev.

Kev poured it without a word; Ian looked up at him a little desperately as he took the glass and slurped an enormous sip.

“You know your problem, Ian?” Frank said, gesturing widely with his beer. “You talk too much.”

“Man, shut the fuck up, Frank,” Kev said disgustedly.

“Oh, come on,” Frank said. “Why the sourpuss? Sometimes men discover things about themselves, like they prefer male genitalia to female genitalia. The important thing, son, is not to fucking _whine_.”

“Shit, Frank,” Kev started, but Ian waved him down. For some reason, he was intrigued.

“So what do you do instead?” he asked.

Frank looked up with a slightly startled expression on his face; Ian figured that made sense. Usually his speeches caused his children to tell him to fuck off with varying degrees of severity.

“You know, when you’ve raised a family, like I have, you learn that it’s not all about you,” he said. “Sometimes you just have to put other people first. I mean, where’s the justice? I’m left with six kids, _six_ _kids_ , and what do I get? Nothing. That’s the problem with this country, my boy. No fucking consideration. No one thinks of anyone but themselves. Where’s the justice?”

Ian stood up abruptly, his bar stool skidding back across the floor. “Thanks, Frank,” he said. Kev stared at him; Frank smiled in what was no doubt intended to be a paternal sort of way.

“You can always come to me, son,” he said sanctimoniously. Ian ignored this, striding towards the door.

He _had_ been way too caught up in himself, for way too long. Maybe it was time to start thinking about the rest of his family instead; maybe it was too late to straighten things out with Mandy and Jay, but he could learn from his mistakes. He lost them because he was too self-involved. Too self-involved to realise that he could have told Mandy the truth, and too self-involved to stop himself from taking out his anger on Jay. Maybe his focus needed to be on strengthening the relationships he had left.

So make that _two_ plus-sides to having an alcoholic for a father: sometimes he could actually say something wise without realising it.

Mickey was already at work by the time Ian arrived; Linda was behind the counter, her enormous bump preventing her from actually being able to reach the till. She shot Ian a death-glare as he walked in.

“You’re late,” she said crisply. “And I can smell the booze on you, Ian, for Christ’s sake! If I didn’t have pre-eclampsia you’d be fired on the spot. And you,” she shot at Mickey, “keep that smirk off your face, you’re still on probation.”

With that, she shuffled out of the store, stopping to swipe a couple of donuts on the way. Ian grinned at her as she left, which earned him another dose of the evil eye.

“Didn’t take you for a morning drinker, Gallagher,” Mickey said, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in the way that never failed to make Ian shudder with desire.

“I’m not usually,” he said. “Frank decided to give me some father-son wisdom.”

“And what, you figured you needed a beer or three to get through it?” Mickey asked. Ian laughed loudly, and Mickey frowned. “Jesus, Gallagher, how much did you have?”

Ian gave him the finger, although the 100-watt grin stretching his face so wide he thought it might split belied the gesture. He walked behind the counter, hopping up on the stool; Mickey grabbed a couple of waters from the fridge behind him.

“Sober up, Gallagher,” he said, putting one on the counter in front of him. “Eat a fucking donut.”

Ian laughed. “I’m not drunk, Mick. Frank actually had some weirdly good advice.”

Mickey stared at him. “Are you on crack?”

“Nope,” he replied. “Look on the bright side, Mick: I didn’t get my fuck buddy pregnant.”

Clearly distracted by this, Mickey tipped his head to one side. “How’d your brother take it?” He walked over to the counter, leaning his elbows on it like he actually cared about what Ian had to say. Ian couldn’t help it. He grinned.

“Not that well, but he doesn’t hate me,” he said. “He’s been trying to sort things out with Karen.”

Mickey let out a snort. “Yeah, wish him luck from me,” he said derisively, pushing himself away from the counter with a spring.

“So how about you?” Ian asked. “The run go well yesterday?”

Mickey squinted at him. “I guess,” he said suspiciously. “The fuck do you care?”

“Just asking,” Ian said with a shrug. “What were you doing?”

Almost despite himself, Mickey seemed to unbend, his arms loosening from their aggressive fold in front of his chest. “Breaking the kneecaps of some asshole who wouldn’t pay up,” he said.

“Huh,” Ian said. “Was he okay?”

“No, he wasn’t fucking okay, he had two broken fucking legs,” Mickey said irritably. “What’s with the twenty questions, huh?”

“Just asking,” Ian said again. “Do you even like doing all the drug runs?” he asked. Mickey shrugged defensively.

“I don’t know, man, it’s a job, right?” he said.

“You’re not always going to be doing this, though, right?”

A heavy frown was creasing Mickey’s brow. “How the hell should I know?”

This time it was Ian’s turn to shrug. “You must have plans.”

“Plans?”

“For the future,” Ian clarified. “For life.”

“Yeah, that’s right, I got plans,” Mickey said sarcastically. “I’m going to community college and becoming a fucking architect. And after that you and me are spreading out a blanket and looking for fucking shooting stars, Jesus.”

“No reason you can’t,” Ian said easily. He grinned. “Not the shooting stars, that’s a bit fucking gay, but the college thing.”

“Why the fuck are we talking about community college right now?” Mickey barked harshly. “Look, man, you want to get out of here, that’s cool, okay? But you don’t gotta act like it’s the same for everyone.”

“I’m not,” Ian said, even though he was. “I’m just saying, you could if you wanted to.”

“Well, I don’t fucking want to, okay?” A sly smile appeared on Mickey’s face. “You gonna get on me any time today, Gallagher?”

Ian grinned. Okay, so maybe it hadn’t gone exactly the way he’d pictured it, but Mickey had at least answered his questions, and he hadn’t stormed off in a huff afterwards. He wouldn’t have done that a couple of months ago. Ian decided to take that as a win for the whole thinking of others thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I updated, let's throw a freaking party! I swear, I know I always say this, but I'm going to do better... I'm going to try and do better...
> 
> I've been wanting a bit of Frank in this fic for a while now, and I watched a whole bunch of his rants, including some deleted scenes, to get the feel for him, so I hope I've managed to do him justice! As always, I am an attention whore, and comments will make my fricking day :D


	28. Let's Just Forget I Lost Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian finds an unlikely ally. Jay returns.

The lights were flashing and the music was thudding, and Ian wasn’t sure how he’d got there.

_I’m done. Done, done._

Monica had a blissed-out kind of smile on her face as she moved and swayed, and Ian couldn’t help but be infected by her enthusiasm. There was something so releasing in just losing himself to the beat and the feel of his own body as he danced. He didn’t have to think about anything at all.

_What fucking world do you live in?_

There was something to be said for following your parents’ advice, even if they were fuck-ups. He’d managed to do pretty well going on Frank’s word a few weeks back in the Alibi, and now his mother was turning out to be a surprisingly reliable source of comfort as well, even if Ian didn’t have a clue what she was actually doing back in their lives. Maybe it was _because_ they were fuck-ups; the encouraging part about hitting rock-bottom was that it couldn’t get any worse.

_What did I just say to you? Done is done._

It had been going so well, even if Mickey had been a little freaked out by Ian’s sudden optimism. They had actually started having conversations. Mickey had actually initiated face-to-face sex. They talked about stupid stuff – baseball, and movies they liked, and the random shit that was going on with their families, although Mandy and Jay were respectively off-limits. Ian told him about Grammy coming to stay, and Steve turning out to be married and actually called Jimmy; Mickey told Ian about Terry beating up Iggy for pocketing some of the money they’d made on a drug run. It almost felt like they were friends. Ian even dared to tease Mickey about his new beard.

_What, you think we’re boyfriend and girlfriend here?_

Fucking Frank. In one breath he could give Ian some accidentally good advice, and in the next he could ruin everything. Ian had tried to make him understand how scared Mickey was; as per usual, however, Frank wasn’t interested in anything unrelated to drugs or money. Ian stamped his feet on the floor as he danced, letting the music pulse through him, his eyes closed as he moved. Fucking Frank.

_You’re nothing but a warm mouth to me._

Was it true? Ian didn’t believe it. Maybe it was stupid, given the absolute finality in Mickey’s words, but he couldn’t believe that it was the truth. Nothing could shake his absolute conviction that Mickey cared about him. He could believe that Mickey was done with him – he’d made _that_ pretty clear – but he wouldn’t believe that their entire relationship had been all about sex. Maybe it had started out that way, but not any more. After all, Mickey hadn’t killed Frank. He’d just got himself sent to juvie.

_If my dad finds out about this he will kill me himself._

Those hadn’t been empty words.

Mickey cared about him. That had to be true.

“Hey, Ian!” It was Monica, her weird over-the-top smile stretching her face. “Two o clock! Shit, no, incoming!”

Disregarding the irony of his mother using army terms in her attempt to be his wingwoman, Ian turned to look in the direction she was gesturing. The guy was actually pretty hot, unlike the last couple she’d pointed out; he had a whole Ken doll thing going on with the surfer’s tan and windswept blonde hair that looked like it had seen half a bottle of hair gel. He was striding purposefully towards them with a gleaming smile on his face.

“I’ll disappear!” Monica whispered excitedly, and somehow she managed to do just that, melting into the crowd around them.

The guy reached Ian, and his smile got even wider. “Hey,” he said over the throb of the music. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” Ian replied. He wasn’t sure if he was in the mood to be hit on by some twenty-five-year-old model of everything Mickey wasn’t.

Clearly unperturbed by the short reply, the guy stuck out a hand. “I’m Leo,” he said.

Uncertainly, Ian shook the proffered hand. “Ian,” he replied.

“I see you don’t have a drink,” Leo said smilingly. “Maybe I can remedy that?”

In spite of himself, Ian found himself smirking a little. It was kind of nice to be flirted with in the uncomplicated, free way this guy was flirting with him. “I’m a beer kind of guy,” he informed Leo.

“Done,” Leo said. “Don’t go anywhere.”

As soon as he’d gone, Monica reappeared. “He was cute!” she exclaimed. “Where’d he go?”

“To buy me a drink,” Ian said, unable to hide the hint of smugness in his voice.

“What did I tell you, baby?” Monica said dreamily. She laughed. “No shame.”

No shame, indeed. If only things could be that simple with Mickey. Ian looked over as Leo reappeared, a beer in each hand; maybe he should follow his mother’s advice. It wasn’t like he had anything left with Mickey anyway. He’d been told point-blank that it was over.

“Didn’t realise you were here with someone,” Leo said, gesturing to Monica as he handed Ian one of the beers. She waved excitedly at him.

Ian shrugged slightly self-consciously, taking a sip. “My mom,” he said. Leo’s eyebrows shot up.

“Huh,” he said. Then: “Okay. Hi, Ian’s mom.”

“Hey there,” Monica said in a slightly throaty voice. Leo grinned.

“Have this,” he said, passing over the other beer; she laughed delightedly, putting the bottle to her mouth and slugging back a large swallow.

Ian was staring at the guy in shock; he’d kind of thought the confession that he was out with his mom would be a turn-off. Maybe it was, but the way Leo was being so cool about it was frankly a turn- _on_. He took another large gulp of his beer, and made up his mind. _Done is done_.

Handing his beer to Monica, he surged forwards, gripping the back of Leo’s head as he pressed his lips to the other man’s. For a second Leo didn’t respond, obviously surprised by the suddenness of the kiss; then, he was all _there_ , his tongue in Ian’s mouth while his hands wandered down to his ass.

It was just a kiss. But it was the one thing Ian had been denied in all the time he’d had with Mickey, and now some random dude he’d met five minutes ago was doing it like it was nothing.

Because to a normal person, it wasn’t a big deal.

He ended up fucking Leo in the alley behind the club, after making sure Monica was firmly situated inside. It wasn’t the best sex Ian had ever had, but then a drunken one-night-stand couldn’t exactly be expected to compare to the months he and Mickey had had together to figure out what the other person liked. It was good enough, under the circumstances, and with every thrust Ian felt like he was taking back control of himself, of his life. He was allowed to do this. He didn’t owe Mickey anything. _Done is done_.

*

Ian’s head, unsurprisingly, was pounding. He and Monica had picked up some beers on the way home from the club – during which journey he had had to endure her delighted excitement about his hook-up – and they had ended up having an impromptu party in the Gallagher living room with Kev, Vee, a couple of regulars from the Alibi, and Estefania of all people. With so many people there having fun and clearly caring about him, it had been easy to forget about the people he had screwed up with: Mickey, Mandy and Jay. Only three of the most important ones.

At least it wasn’t Lip. He’d ended up confronting Karen about her pregnancy; she’d informed him in no uncertain terms that she was raising the baby with Jody, and Lip, incensed that she hadn’t had the guts to tell him about it herself, had washed his hands of the whole thing. He’d spent the night getting increasingly drunk and high with Kev, while Vee and Fiona tutted from across the room. Secretly, Ian thought it was good for him to be away from Karen. Let her sort out the mess she’d made without dragging his brother into it.

It was weirdly nice to have his mother there; to feel like his family was whole again. He thought about Mandy; he didn’t think, now, that she’d ever talk to him again. His stomach roiled at the thought of that; he thought he’d pretty much burned his bridges with the Milkoviches now. He hadn’t seen Mandy in at least three months; he’d tried to talk to Iggy once at the Alibi, but he’d been told he wasn’t welcome at the Milkovich house any more, and that if Terry ever saw him he’d kick his ass. Like that was a surprise.

Come the next morning, Ian was exhaustedly pouring cereal for himself while his parents smoked Grammy’s ashes at the kitchen table when there was a loud knock at the front door.

Monica looked up. “Can you get that, baby? Your father and I are busy right now.”

Ignoring how freakishly soccer-mom she sounded, Ian set down his bowl and moved into the living room at a snail’s pace. Whoever it was clearly wasn’t prepared to wait; they pounded on the door again, making Ian’s head ache even more than it already was.

“Okay, okay,” he mumbled. “I’m coming.”

He opened the door.

It was Jay.

For a moment or so, Ian didn’t say anything at all; his mouth had spontaneously dropped open at the sight of his brother. He had honestly never expected to see him again. Jay seemed to be waiting for him to speak.

Finally his brain kicked in. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Jay said, sounding a lot more clear-headed than Ian. “Can I come in? I need to talk to you.”

“Uh… okay,” Ian said, stepping back to allow Jay to pass him. “Hey, man, I’m really sorry about—”

“Actually, I said that _I_ need to talk,” Jay interrupted. “So you can just sit down and listen, okay?”

Ian was aware of Frank and Monica glancing over to him from the kitchen; Jay’s eyes were fiery. He sat down on the sofa.

“You piss me off,” Jay said baldly. “I get that you’ve been going through a permanently tough time this last year or so, but I’m not your punching bag. You don’t get to come to my house and say that kind of shit to me and then act like it’s no big deal.”

The shock of Jay swearing, as always, made Ian blink. “I know,” he said. “That’s why I was—”

“I’m talking,” Jay cut across him dismissively. “I know you didn’t mean the things you said. I know you were upset, and thanks to an illuminating chat I had with Lip last week, I know why.”

“You talked to Lip?” Ian asked, frowning. For some reason, he didn’t like the idea of Jay and Lip communicating without him. He almost felt… jealous.

“I ran into him at MIT,” Jay said. “My mom went there; she wanted me to see the campus.”

Ian snorted. “You’re only just fifteen.”

Jay’s mouth twisted. “My mom is kind of a high achiever.”

“What did Lip say?” Ian asked. It felt weird to think that his brothers might be talking about him behind his back.

Jay sighed. “He said things aren’t much better for you than the last time I spoke to you. But that’s not why I’m here.”

“Okay,” Ian said. “So then why are you?”

“Because,” Jay said frustratedly, “it’s not cool to take out all that shit on someone who’s been nothing but there for you since the word go and then just disappear!”

Ian opened his mouth to reply. Then he closed it again.

His brother went on: “I knew you were upset about my mom. I kept expecting you to call, or show up. I figured you’d sort yourself out and then come make things right. I didn’t expect this fucking radio silence!”

“Look, I am sorry,” Ian said sincerely. “I just didn’t know what to say, you know?”

“Yeah, well, anything would have been better than nothing,” Jay said in a bitter voice. “Anyway, I just came to say that, so…” He stood up. “See you, Ian.”

The door had slammed behind him before Ian could even register that he was gone.

For a couple of minutes he just sat there. There was no denying that Jay was right; he’d fucked up. It was up to him now to decide what to do. He could let this slide again. That would be the easy option.

Ian had never been the kind of guy to go for the easy option.

He sprang up, suddenly feeling energised; without even bothering to answer Monica’s concerned questions about who exactly that had been, he sped out of the house. Jay couldn’t have gone far.

Ian underestimated Jay’s fervour to get away from him; he’d reached the station before he caught up with his younger brother. Jumping the ticket barriers, he dashed onto the platform, where Jay could just be seen beginning to descend the stairs.

“Jay!” he called. His brother stopped on the top step and turned around. Was that a smile on his face?

Ian ran over to him. Yes, Jay was definitely smiling. He had to be one of the weirdest human beings alive. “Hey,” Jay said easily.

“I’m sorry,” Ian said again.

“I was hoping you’d follow me,” Jay replied. “Are you okay?”

Ian considered this question. “Been better,” he said honestly.

“You’ll be okay,” Jay said confidently. “Mandy’ll come round.” He looked closely at Ian. “Mickey too, I reckon, if that’s the reason you’re looking the way you’re looking.”

“I forgot how freaky it is when you do that,” Ian said with a grin. He had to raise his voice over the rumble and screech of a train arriving at the platform; footsteps began clattering around him as harried people got off the train.

“Look, I know you think I’m weird,” Jay said, waving his hand to forestall Ian’s denial of this claim. “But you know something? I’m happy being weird. Do you ever think that maybe your problems are all coming from the fact that you’re afraid?”

Ian blinked at him. “Afraid?”

Jay shrugged. “Afraid to be honest. Afraid to be who you are. Trust me, it’s much better to just own it, even if some people don’t want to know you because of it.”

“Huh,” Ian said. “Anyone ever tell you you’re weirdly wise?”

Jay grinned. “Yeah,” he replied. “You know, Ian, I—”

Whatever he had been going to say was cut off as a tall man in a suit, clearly not looking where he was going, pushed past the two of them as he went down the stairs, his briefcase swinging out to hit Jay’s hip.

The smack in the side made Jay stumble, his feet slipping off the step he was standing on.

He seemed to teeter for a moment, reaching out for the hand rail but finding nothing.

He stretched out a hand for Ian, and Ian leapt forwards to try and catch it, but he wasn’t fast enough.

A look of utter horror spread across Jay’s face as he fell backwards, his arms swinging wildly, and Ian’s ears were buzzing as he realised he was shouting his brother’s name.

People were looking their way, running over to see if they could help.

Ian’s eyes were locked with his brother’s as Jay tumbled down the stairs, their mouths open in simultaneous screams.

And then there was a thud.

And then there was a crunch.

And then there were no more sounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I have updated! Be impressed! If I’m being honest, I lost my way in this fic for a bit, and the reason for that was that I have a very clear plan for what will happen towards the end of canon-season 2, but I had loads of stuff – specifically Mickey going to juvie – that I didn’t really want to write from scratch, which was putting me off. BUT after a lot of thought I decided just to skip all that, since it’s not like we don’t all know what happens, and just get to the bits I wanted to write. So though the previous couple of chapters have been important to what’s going to happen in the future, I now feel a lot more on track and happy with how everything’s progressing! So that’s my excuse this time for the shamefully long gap between chapters. Also, as an aside, this is why I love constructive criticism, because bellafarella pointed out that I’ve been straying a bit, which was so wise and so motivating to change up what I was doing!
> 
> In terms of the actual story, I am well aware that there are many canon things – mainly related to Lip, but also to do with Mandy – that have not happened at the right time. I will be explaining it in future chapters, but for now I’ll just say that I see Lip as being really pissed that it was Ian rather than Karen that told him she was pregnant, and also being more inclined to listen to Ian because they aren’t having that big weird fight they have (something about hand-me-down clothes? Never quite understood that one) and therefore less driven into Karen’s clutches. So he hasn’t quit school or been kicked out of his house.
> 
> There ends my incredibly long author’s notes! Thank you so much everyone who has put up with my horribly long absences and still reads this fic – I promise to be better in the future! No, really, I mean it this time.


	29. Where Who How Is My Mind?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hate writing summaries. From here on out, NO MORE SUMMARIES!

Eyes closed, dark red-brown hair splashed across his forehead like a spiky scar. Freckles scattered across his nose. Blood, pooling underneath his head in a perfectly round lake. His arms, one up above his head and the other thrown across his chest; his legs folded underneath him at an odd, awkward angle. Picture postcard: this is what a dead body looks like.

“Gallagher?”

The sound wrenched from Ian’s chest: unholy. Screaming his brother’s name, over and over again; clattering and slipping down the stairs. The buzzing and the hissing of other people talking.

“Gallagher.”

Ian clutched Jay’s hand, squeezing the pale fingers as though he could will them into responding. Someone was touching his shoulder; he ignored them, staring down into Jay’s eyes. They were staring, unblinking, through him into some unknown future; the horrified look still remained on Jay’s face and in his open mouth. The dead are supposed to look peaceful; Jay did not look peaceful at all.

“ _Ian_.”

The one thing that could bring Ian back to reality; the only person Ian could ever want by his side at a time like this. His head was too full to bother wondering how the hell Mickey had managed to so completely and beautifully be in exactly the right place at the right time; with a sob, he sank back, and buried his head into Mickey’s shoulder.

For a second, Mickey froze, obviously not expecting this unusually needy contact; then he relaxed, and a tentative arm stole around Ian’s shoulders.

“Come on, Ian,” he murmured. “It’s going to be f— it’s okay,” he finished lamely. Clearly he had taken a look at Jay; there was a very good chance it was absolutely not going to be fine.

“I’ve called an ambulance,” came a bossy, authoritative voice; it belonged to an overweight woman wearing the most enormous pair of pink hoop earrings Ian had ever seen. She had a large mole on her puffy chin. Strange the things you notice when your world is falling apart. “They’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“Jay,” Ian said quietly, as though trying out the word for size. His eyes flicked over to the prostrate figure on the ground beside him; Mickey’s hand came up instantly to guide his face away.

“Don’t look, man,” Mickey said, and his tone could almost be described as _gentle_. “Ambulance’ll be here soon. He’ll be okay.”

And even though it was almost certainly bullshit, Ian let the words comfort him as he knelt on the ground beside his brother, leaning on Mickey’s shoulder and not looking at the damage that had been done by one stupid fucking prick with a briefcase.

Life was numb. There were noises and sirens and flashing red lights; his lips were too cold to answer the uniformed men who asked him what had happened. He didn’t realise that he was still holding Jay’s hand until they had to ask him to let go so that they could put him in the ambulance. They wouldn’t let him come with them.

“Come on, man,” Mickey said quietly, and somehow Ian found himself stumbling out of the station and out into the sunshine, which somehow still existed even though it shouldn’t have done. Mickey wasn’t so much guiding him as holding him up; one tattooed hand was clenched around the back of Ian’s shirt, pulling him onwards.

“Where are we going?” Ian asked dully; Mickey didn’t answer, so maybe he hadn’t actually said it out loud. Maybe it was just another of the whirling strands dipping in and out of his mind. He couldn’t make himself care enough to say it again.

The answer became clear anyway as the Milkovich house came into view; even though it was stupid and completely the wrong time to think it, Ian felt a little lurch at the idea that Mickey had brought him home.

The house was empty, a fact which barely registered as Mickey led Ian into his room; the next thing he knew, he was sitting on the edge of Mickey’s bed, staring into Mickey’s impossibly blue eyes, with Mickey’s white hand wrapped around his own.

“Ian,” Mickey began, and then stopped. It was clear he had no idea what to say, how to help.

Ian forced his voice to work. “He’s dead, right?” He flinched at the harshness of his own words.

The hesitation before Mickey spoke told Ian more than any other answer could have. “I don’t know,” Mickey said finally. He paused. “Maybe.”

“Shit,” Ian said. Then again: “Shit.” He could feel that he was crying; he couldn’t remember when he’d started.

Mickey stared at him helplessly. “Gallagher—”

And perhaps it was that, the use of the old nickname that had always given Ian shivers of anticipation and pleasure, but suddenly Ian’s eyes hardened as he looked at Mickey.

“Take your shirt off,” he commanded. He had the satisfaction of seeing Mickey’s mouth fall open.

“What?”

“Take your shirt off,” Ian repeated. “Do it.”

Mickey was frowning at him, and suddenly Ian felt uncertainty lurch through him. Mickey had never looked at him that way before. Mickey had never needed to be asked twice before.

“Ian,” Mickey said, and his voice was gentler than Ian had ever heard it. “I get that this is traumatic, and shit, but you’re freaking me the fuck out right now.”

The rejection was bitter on Ian’s tongue. “Don’t be an asshole,” he heard himself say.

Mickey was staring at him like he was crazy. “Ian, you’re the one who told me you were gay!” he said.

“What?” Ian said, utterly bewildered. “Mickey—”

And then he stopped. He looked into the shocked pair of eyes in front of him.

Because of course, they belonged to Mandy.

*

For a second, neither of them said anything. Mandy was staring at him, her eyes as round as golf balls; Ian felt like he was having an out-of-body experience.

_Mandy_ _’_ _s_ gentle hand guiding him out of the station. _Mandy_ comforting him in his hour of need. _Mandy_ bringing him home to the Milkovich house.

Mickey was in juvie. He couldn’t be here.

How had Ian not realised that?

How had he seen Mickey instead of Mandy?

Mandy’s voice – _Mandy_ _’_ _s_ voice – broke into Ian’s thoughts. “Did you just call me Mickey?”

“No,” Ian said thickly. His ears were humming, as though he were trying to speak to Mandy through a wall or from underwater.

When she spoke again, she was whispering. “Have you been fucking my brother?”

Ian forced himself to concentrate. Mandy’s face was swimming and dancing in front of him. “Yes,” he said.

“Oh,” she replied dully. Ian could see the pain in her eyes; it was as tangible as though he had hit her in the centre of the forehead with a brick.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m a fuck-up.”

Wasn’t _that_ the understatement of the fucking century?

Her hands brushed at her eyes. “It’s okay,” she said, even though it clearly wasn’t. “Ian, we should go to the hospital. See if Jay’s okay.”

For a moment, Ian had almost forgotten about Jay. The reality of his brother’s accident – he couldn’t bring himself to think _death_ , not until he knew for sure – came crashing down on him once more, and he actually felt his shoulders physically sink beneath the weight of it.

Jay. This couldn’t be happening.

But it was.

Mandy didn’t speak to him at all on the way to the hospital; she walked with her arms folded tightly across her thin chest, her face pinched and unhappy. Jay, Ian remembered, had been her friend as well.

Plus there was the fact that she’d just found out her boyfriend had been banging her brother.

And the little thing about aforementioned boyfriend actually _mistaking_ her for said brother.

Ian didn’t bother to attempt to make conversation either. He had no idea what he could possibly say; besides, he could barely concentrate enough to put one foot in front of another. His head hurt so much he thought it might actually explode; it felt like the thoughts inside it were actually battering the inside of his skull with the force of the emotions behind them.

“Jacob Gallagher.” Ian refocused enough to realise that Mandy was speaking to a dour-faced nurse at the reception desk; she’d uncrossed her arms, her hands on the edge of the desk.

“Are you family?” the nurse asked.

“I’m his… I’m his brother,” Ian croaked.

The nurse nodded. “Right, well—”

“He most certainly is not!”

Both Ian and Mandy sprang away from the desk in surprise at the shrill, angry voice attacking them from down the corridor; with a sinking heart, Ian realised that it was Lucy. Her usually neat bob was in wild disarray, as if she had been literally tearing her hair out; her face was bright red and screwed up in fury. One tiny finger was pointed directly at Ian as she strode over to him, stopping only when she was about six inches away from his face. She was smaller than him, but it was Ian who felt tiny under the white-hot heat of her glare.

When she spoke, however, it was not the screeching shout he had expected. Instead, she spoke in a low, venomous hiss. “This is your fault,” she said. “This has happened because of you!” Her voice rose at the end of this last sentence, and with dismay Ian saw tears in the corners of her eyes.

“Please—” he began helplessly, with no real idea of what he was going to say; Lucy didn’t let him finish anyway.

“You just couldn’t leave him alone, could you?” she spat. “You and your lowlife family, pulling him into your dangerous world. Look what you’ve done!”

“Lucy, stop.” This came from Clayton, whom Ian now saw was standing awkwardly behind his wife, very deliberately not looking at Ian. His white face was even paler than Ian remembered. His father.

“No!” Lucy screamed. “I will not stop! This is his fault! Your precious son,” she sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. “Jacob would never have been on those stairs if it weren’t for him.” Tears were falling down her face. “He had s-such a bright future ahead of him.”

“Lucy, he’s still alive,” Clayton said weakly.

“He is?” Ian asked breathlessly. Lucy turned scornful eyes back to him.

“No thanks to you,” she said. “He’s in a coma. No one knows if he’ll wake up. Even if he does…” She took a deep breath, and finished more quietly: “You’ve damaged him forever.”

“I—” What could Ian say? _His fault_. It was all his fault. Jay was in a coma because of him. His brother might die because he was such a fuck-up.

“Get out,” Lucy hissed. “You will never come near my son again.”

The lights were impossibly bright above Ian’s head; Jay was in a coma. Lost in another world, with bright lights and dead to this one, saying goodbye. Was there sunshine again? Mandy had brought him outside, apparently. He could feel the air shaking in his lungs, because it hadn’t been Mickey, because his body wasn’t his own, it belonged to Jay. A car, rumbling through the car park. The wind ruffled the leaves on the trees and left Jay untouched. Mickey, sitting in juvie alone; Mandy, his protector, beside him.

Ian took a deep, shuddering breath, and threw up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little nervous posting this, as I had a few mixed reviews last chapter, but I'm going to plough on and hope for the best! Thank you everyone for all the lovely comments and fab concric, it really does keep me going :)
> 
> As a side note, Ian is bipolar, as in canon, and for that purpose I did some research into the disorder, but I have no personal experience with it, so I'm sure I've made a lot of mistakes which I hope you'll forgive me for! I know hallucinations aren't exactly canon, but they are a symptom of bipolar I according to the NHS website, so for the purposes of this fic that's what Ian has.


	30. Do Something You Love

It was three in the morning, and the only sound was that of Mandy's gentle breathing, the even in and out marking a stark contrast to Ian's own ragged pants. He sat on the sofa in the Gallagher house, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes gazing down at the floor without really seeing it. Mandy sat beside him, close enough to be a comfort but not so close as to actually touch him, her arms crossed so tightly that Ian thought she might actually crack a rib. They had been sitting that way for nearly seven hours now.

Things had gone on around them, of course. Ian's family had been there earlier, asking questions and bustling around the kitchen cooking dinner; Mandy had explained what had happened in clipped tones, and after that the Gallaghers had left the pair of them alone, working around them like a great black hole that everyone knew about but no one mentioned.

Ian didn't care. He couldn't seem to make himself care about anything.

He hadn't spoken once, ignoring Debbie's questions and Carl's bracing punch in the arm, staring at nothing until finally the Gallaghers drifted off the bed, leaving him alone with Mandy, as always, at his side.

When they were alone, Ian's head had jerked up almost involuntarily. He looked at Mandy; she was studying her skinny knees, her dark head bowed to the ground. A million thoughts were whirling around Ian's mind, but in that moment only one crystallised.

"Mandy..." he began. “About Mickey..."

She flinched as though he had hit her. "I don't want to fucking talk about it," she said. Her voice had its usual hard, defensive edge, but she sounded more weary than angry.

Ian didn't push it. He let his head drop once more, and they sat there as the clock ticked slowly into the early hours.

Instead of talking, Ian let himself just _think_. He thought about Jay; he thought about how he could have been a better brother, how Jay had always been there for him and how he had always taken that for granted. He thought about how he had nearly killed his brother. About how he hadn't caught him, hadn't saved him.

He thought about Mickey; Christ, he could hardly go a minute without thinking about Mickey. He thought about the look on Mickey's face the last time he had seen him. He thought about Mickey alone in juvie, hating himself for pushing Ian away.

Because he had to believe he was more to Mickey than just a warm mouth. He had to.

He thought about the way he had treated Mandy, and about how she was still sitting here in spite of all of it. When he thought that, he reached over almost blindly in the dark to take her hand, and for some reason she let him.

They were still sitting like that, hand in hand, when Lip came down the stairs rubbing his eyes with his hair sticking up at the back.

"Christ," Lip said sleepily. "What're you guys doing still up?"

Ian just looked at him.

Maybe he saw the hollowness in Ian's eyes, because his next words were gentler. "Ian, he's going to be okay," he said. "Staying up all night won't make him better."

"You got any better ideas, shithead?" Mandy snapped unexpectedly. Ian flinched in surprise.

"Yes," Lip said. "Go to bed, get up in the morning and go and fucking see him."

"Lucy won't let me in," Ian croaked. His throat felt like he'd rubbed it with sandpaper.

Lip sighed, but he didn't argue any more; he just got the glass of water he'd obviously come down for and padded back up the stairs. Mandy's grip on Ian's hand tightened just slightly.

The minutes ticked by.

Debbie was up by eight, clattering around in the kitchen making pancakes. She didn't try to talk to Ian - for which he was profoundly grateful - but she put a plate of bacon and eggs on the coffee table in front of him. There was a small smile on her face which could almost be classed as understanding. Ian felt the ghost of a returning grimace flash across his lips in response.

The eggs were cold by the time Lip came downstairs again; he shut his eyes briefly at the sight of Ian and Mandy sitting in the same position, but he didn't say anything. Ian was barely aware of anything by that point; he felt like he'd entered a state of hypnosis. Mandy seemed much the same, her eyes as round as saucers as she stared into nothing. A few minutes later, Lip strode out the door, letting it bang closed behind him. Ian's head fell back into the sofa cushions, his trance unbroken.

It was strangely cathartic to sit without moving or speaking for fourteen hours straight. In a way it felt like a form of penance; a way to atone for all the shitty decisions that had led him to this point. Ian wasn't sure that he believed in any kind of deity - especially not one that would allow such a shitty thing to happen to such a good person as Jay - but if there was a God, He had heard every silent prayer that it was possible for one lonely fucked-up redhead to make. Ian would sit there for another fourteen hours if that was what it took for the man upstairs to start listening to him and make Jay well again.

"Ian!" The voice was like an unwelcome fly, buzzing somewhere near his face and stopping him from turning inwards. "Ian, for fuck's sake, get the fuck up!"

Ian forced his eyelids open. He must have dropped off; he wasn't sure when that had happened. Lip was stood in front of him, bent over so that his face was right in close to Ian's. He looked incredibly frustrated.

"Lip?" It was hard to get the word out, like he was speaking underwater. Lip rolled his eyes.

"Come on, Ian. We're going to the hospital."

Now Ian was awake. "But... Lucy..."

"Isn't there," Lip said. "I sorted it."

"What did you do?" Mandy said sharply. Ian started; he had almost forgotten she was there, but here she was, still beside him, her hand clenched in his so tightly that his fingers were numb.

"I sorted it," Lip said again. "Come on."

Ian struggled to his feet. His vision was slightly blurry around the edges; he figured that was what happened when you went twenty-eight hours without food or sleep. "Seriously, Lip," he slurred. "What did you do?"

Lip sighed. "I called Clayton," he said.

Ian stumbled backwards, nearly falling over in his shock. "What?"

"I called Clayton," Lip repeated. "He's distracting Lucy for a couple of hours so you can visit Jay. Are you coming, or what?"

"He's coming." Mandy's tone was decisive. "Ian, you need to see him. We can talk to his doctors, or whatever, see what they say."

"Okay," Ian found himself saying. "Okay."

So that was how he came to be standing next to Jay’s bed in a large, overly bright hospital ward, looking down at his brother’s unmoving form without having a clue what to say. Not that it mattered anyway. Jay wasn’t exactly conscious.

With his eyes closed, his face devoid of his usual wise, knowing expression, Jay looked ridiculously young. He looked like what he was: a kid. A kid who shouldn’t have been lying in a hospital bed with tubes and wires connecting him to the humming machines that were keeping him alive. Ian could feel tears pricking the corners of his eyes. It was his fault that Jay was here. His fault that Jay’s hands and arms were covered in bruises and scratches from where he’d tried to break his fall, that there was a bandage holding his ribs together, that there was an enormous swollen lump on his forehead that was the reason he wouldn’t wake up. All Ian’s fault.

Mandy and Lip were waiting outside; Lip was speaking to some of the nurses, trying to find out more about Jay’s condition. Ian didn’t really see the point. No one knew when Jay would wake up.

Or if he would at all.

Mandy had sat beside Jay for a little while, holding his motionless hand, but then she’d gone to join Lip, claiming that hospitals freaked her out. Ian suspected that she hadn’t wanted him to see her crying.

Jay wasn’t the only patient in the ward. Another boy, perhaps nineteen or twenty, lay in the bed opposite, wrapped in the same layers of wires, with a girl around Ian’s age sat in the chair beside him reading a magazine. She had her knees up on the edge of the bed, the magazine balanced on one arm while the other hand clutched that of the comatose boy. She looked… practised. Like she’d been here so often that she had a routine, a way of sitting and being there beside the still form of whoever it was she was visiting that had become completely natural.

Ian dreaded the idea of that. Of Jay being here, dead to the world, for so long that it became normal.

The girl seemed to sense him watching her; she looked up, smiling slightly as she met his eyes. She lifted her free hand in a vague greeting; Ian returned the gesture wanly.

Abruptly, she stood up, putting her magazine on her chair and gently disengaging her hand from the stiff fingers of the boy in the bed. She smiled more fully as she strode across the room.

“Hey,” she said, her tone weirdly bright for someone visiting a coma victim.

“Hey,” Ian replied thickly, glancing at her. She was younger than him, maybe fourteen, with a sharp dark bob that brushed her slightly pointed chin. Her smile, while attractive, was somewhat freaking him out given the situation.

As if reading his mind, she said: “In the end you kind of have to smile. Otherwise it’ll drag you down forever.”

Ian looked back down at Jay, at the sloppily shaven areas of his head where they’d had to operate. “The fuck is there to smile about?” he said, more roughly than he’d intended. He reminded himself of Mickey – Mickey would have said something like that – and in spite of himself he did feel the corners of his mouth twitch treacherously at the thought.

The girl shrugged, one dark eyebrow lifting expressively. “I don’t know,” she said. “But you have to go on living, even though he’s here, so you might as well find something.”

Ian cast a sidelong look at her. Her face was more serious now; he glanced back at the boy she’d been sitting with. “How long?” he asked.

She shrugged again. “My brother’s been here around six months now,” she said. “He was in a car accident.”

“My brother—” – there was something very reassuring in referring to Jay that way – “—he fell down the stairs. At the station.” Ian hesitated. “I was there.”

The girl put a hand on his arm; Ian stiffened involuntarily, and she took it away again. “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “That sucks.”

“We just had a fight,” Ian told her. He wasn’t sure why he was talking to her, except that she had a brother in a bed as well and she understood where he was coming from. Or maybe it was that she was a stranger, and strangers are always so much easier to be honest with.

“Did you make it up?” she asked.

He nodded hesitantly. “We were talking about it when he fell.”

“So you have that,” she said. “You made it up to him. That’s something to be thankful for.”

Ian shook his head. “I went after him, to apologise,” he said bleakly. “If I hadn’t, he wouldn’t have fallen. If I hadn’t, he’d hate me, but he’d still be alive.”

“He’s still alive now,” the girl pointed out.

“Yeah, but…”

“No ‘yeah but’,” she said authoritatively, sounding so much like Jay himself that Ian started. “He’s alive. You don’t know what’s going to happen. Seriously, take the good.”

And impossibly, Ian felt the ghost of a smile flit across his face.

The girl clearly saw it. “There you go,” she said almost gleefully. “There’s always something to smile about.”

Ian shook his head in wonder. “How do you stay so happy?”

“I don’t know,” she said diffidently. “My brother’s still alive.” She grinned suddenly. “He’s getting married. I’m a bridesmaid. I’ve been designing my dress.”

Ian raised an eyebrow. “Designing your dress?”

She shrugged. “I’m into fashion. Andy – that’s my brother – always said I should design my own clothes. Now I am.” She smiled. “I think he’d be proud of me.”

“You remind me of Jay,” Ian found himself saying. “He’s always talking like that.”

“Like what?” she asked.

Ian considered the question. “Like shit is possible,” he said at last.

The girl smiled. “Andy always says that you know you love someone when you get happy just because they’re doing something they love, even if it has nothing to do with you. If that makes sense.” She paused, frowning. “Which it probably doesn’t. But whatever. Maybe your brother was thinking along the same lines. Maybe shit is possible.”

“Maybe for you,” Ian said. “You’re Northside. You always have more fucking options.” He thought he sounded like Mickey again, but this time the idea didn’t make him smile. He wondered how he’d missed the utter hopelessness Mickey must have felt when he’d talked that way; it was easier to see now that it was him feeling it.

“Maybe,” the girl agreed. “Still, you always have some options. I guess that’s how I stay happy. I do shit that I love, that makes me happy, and it doesn’t make me feel guilty because I know it’s what Andy would want for me.” She looked at him pointedly. “I don’t just give up.”

“That’s what you think I’m fucking doing?” So easy, to slip into Mickey’s persona. Ian could be that guy.

She didn’t look like she was buying it. “I guess that’s up to you,” she said lightly. “I’d better get going.” She paused, putting her hand on Ian’s arm again. “Maybe I’ll see you here again.”

“Probably not,” Ian said. “His mom doesn’t want me visiting.”

“That sucks,” she replied. “Well, I guess I’ll just say hello to Jay next time I’m here, then.”

Ian turned to face her. “You’d do that? You’d talk to him?”

She looked a little startled by his reaction. “Well, sure, why not? Me, my brother, your brother…” She grinned suddenly, her smile lighting up her small face. “I bet we’ll have some epic conversations.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand the big question of the week is: how much is everyone going to hate me for the lack of Gallavich in the last couple of chapters? I'm afraid it's all quite Ian-centric right now, but Mickey will be coming back eventually, I promise!
> 
> As always, I'm so grateful for all the lovely comments, so keep 'em coming folks! Kisses :D


	31. Yes, I'm Flying, Are You Going To Catch Me?

Mickey looked like hell. That was Ian's first thought.

His second was, yet again, to wonder if he was the biggest fucking idiot on the planet for being here. But that girl at the hospital - he now realised he hadn't asked her for her name - had told him to do something that made him happy, and let's face it, that was always going to lead him to Mickey.

He was, of course, shitting a brick to see him again. Their last meeting hadn't exactly ended on a good note, and Ian knew that on many levels it was his fault Mickey was in juvie at all. But life was so fucked up in so many ways that he almost felt as though seeing Mickey again would be the least of his troubles.

He told the dour-faced guard that he was one of Mickey's brothers, figuring that that way at least Mickey couldn't reject him without even seeing him. Then it was just a case of walking down the long, long hall and sitting in front of the man he used to fuck.

Easy as fucking pie.

Ian swallowed, looking down the row of inmates behind their plastic walls. He could feel his fingers trembling, the sweat beading on his forehead - and then he saw him.

He was slumped back in his chair, looking bored as all fuck. His foot was tapping on the floor, his fingers twitching and drumming on his knees. And he looked like hell.

There were heavy bags underneath his eyes, a wash of rough uneven hair across his chin. He looked tired, exhausted really, and worn in a way that Ian had never seen him look worn. But he still carried the same bravado in the defiant set of his head, and it was that that had Ian's heart thumping in his chest. Somehow, he pushed one foot in front of the other, making his way down the row, until he was standing in front of Mickey.

There was a split second when Mickey looked up at him with no recognition in his eyes, and then, almost comically, he realised who it was. His blue eyes - God, they were so fucking blue - widened, and then narrowed.

"Gallagher," he said. Ian couldn't actually hear him through the plastic, but the word was clear. Mickey's expression wasn't exactly encouraging, but he wasn't running for the hills, so Ian took that as a win. He sat down heavily opposite Mickey, picking up the phone. After a moment or two, Mickey did the same.

"Hey," he said, somewhat lamely.

"The fuck you doing here?"

Ian couldn't help it; he smiled. That belligerence, that don't-give-a-shit glare - Ian had missed it. Mickey, noticing his expression, frowned even more; obviously that just made Ian grin all the harder.

"The fuck?" Mickey barked. "What's so fucking funny?" He said it loud enough that several of the inmates to his left and right glanced over to see what all the fuss was about; he glared them down, however, and they quickly looked away. Ian, in the meantime, managed to school his expression, sucking the smile away.

When Mickey looked back at him, he said again: "Hey."

Mickey gave him an are-you-fucking-stupid kind of glare. "Why are you here, Gallagher?" he asked flatly.

Ian shrugged, the motion knocking the phone slightly against his ear. He realised that his hands were shaking. "Came to see you," he said.

Yeah, it was a stupid answer. But the question had been fucking stupid as well.

Ian waited, watching Mickey carefully as he processed this. Suddenly it seemed like there was more than just perspex between them; everything that had ever happened was there like a block, an enormous wall that only Mickey had the power to destroy. Mickey opened his mouth; Ian held his breath.

Then Mickey shrugged, the fluid motion of his shoulder shaking everything away, and the wall crumbled and disappeared. A tiny hint of a smile appeared on Mickey's face, and he closed his mouth again. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.

Ian grinned at him, and then his face became serious again. "How long?" he asked.

Mickey shrugged in the familiar dismissive manner. "I dunno," he said, his eyes flicking around the way they always did when Ian got too deep on him. "Supposed to be a year, right? Maybe only a couple months if I don't do anything stupid."

Ian frowned. "Like what?"

Mickey wasn't even looking at him any more, glaring down the row at someone Ian couldn't see over all the heads of the inmates. "Like stab that fat fucking Mick who keeps trying to steal my Jell-O!"

He raised his voice as he spoke, and someone shouted back at him from the other end of the row. "Who, me?"

"Yeah!" Mickey yelled back.

"Fuck you!"

Sensing the need to intervene before the banter turned into an actual fight, Ian shifted in his seat; Mickey turned back to look at him. And maybe it was the fact that he wasn't sure Mickey was really paying attention, or maybe he was just the biggest motherfucking moron this side of Chicago, but something made him say quietly: "I told Mandy."

That got Mickey's notice fast. "What?"

Ian looked up, locking his gaze with Mickey's. "Mandy knows. I told her." He squared his shoulders. Mickey couldn't beat him up from juvie; all he could do was walk away.

Ian really, really hoped he wouldn't walk away.

He didn't. He leaned backwards, away from Ian, and rubbed at his lower lip. At last he said: "How the fuck did that happen?" His voice was eerily quiet.

Ian bit his lip; he could feel tears beginning to prick at the corners of his eyes. "Jay," was all he managed to get out.

Mickey's eyes narrowed. "The fuck did the Northside prick do now?"

"He fell down the stairs. He's in a coma." It felt pretty good to be able to tell Mickey that, in spite of the situation. Like somehow Mickey could make everything better.

For a moment, it almost seemed as though Mickey might say something comforting; his eyes widened, and his hand reached towards the perspex... but then he quickly drew it away again. "Yeah?" he said roughly. Then, hesitantly: "He gonna be okay?"

Ian shrugged miserably. "They don't know."

"What's that got to do with Mandy?"

Ian was not about to tell Mickey about his weird episode at the train station. "She found me," he said. "I was upset. I told her." He paused. "I didn't mean to."

It was a while before Mickey spoke again; his brow was creased, his thumb and forefinger rubbing at his lower lip. At last he said: "Okay."

Ian stared at him. "Okay?"

"Yeah, okay!" Mickey said belligerently. "The fuck do you want me to say, Gallagher?"

Ian held his hands up. "Okay, okay," he said. "You're okay with it?"

Mickey sighed. "Look, Gallagher, do me a solid and don't get all Chatty Cathy on me, okay? No, I am not fucking okay with it. But fuck it, Mandy's my sister and there's fuck all I can do about it in here anyway, so whatever. Okay?"

It was probably the longest speech Ian had ever heard him make; it was also the calmest. Maybe juvie was doing him some good after all.

"Okay," he said. "So come on, man, what's it like in there?"

*

Blinking in the sunshine, Ian beamed up at the sky. He had no idea how long he'd stayed inside the prison talking to Mickey, but he knew that for the first time in forever he was actually feeling happy. Yes, Jay was still in a coma, but that girl in the hospital had been right: anything was possible. Jay could wake up. Jay _would_ wake up.

After all, he'd just told Mickey that Mandy knew about them, and here he was, face intact, _relationship_ intact.

Anything was possible.

Maybe he could go visit Jay. He'd visited Mickey, and that had gone well; not even fucking Lucy could stop him. Maybe all he needed to do was be there, and Jay would wake up. It was that kind of day.

There was a smile on his face as he entered his bedroom after the bus ride and the jaunty walk back home. Lip, of course, noticed instantly.

"What's with you?" he asked.

"Nothing," Ian said, but he couldn't disguise the grin on his face.

Lip swung his legs around so that he was sitting up on his bed. "Seriously, man, what's happened? Jay wake up?"

"Nah," Ian said. "But he will."

Lip smiled, but his expression was confused. "Oh yeah, and how do you know that?"

Ian threw himself down on his bed, his arms folded up by his head. "Anything's possible," he said.

Lip jumped down from his bed, coming to sit on the windowsill beside Ian. "You've always been a dreamer," he said with a laugh.

Ian opened his mouth to ask what exactly his brother meant by that, but at that moment a shrill blast from the pocket of his pants interrupted him. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, still grinning like a loon at Lip, and answered the call without looking at the screen.

"Yeah?" he said.

For a second, there was silence on the other end of the line. Then a female voice that Ian didn't recognise said: "Is this Ian Gallagher?"

Ian frowned. "Yeah, who's this?"

Suddenly the voice exploded. "This is Lucy Gallagher, you _bastard_!" That explained why he hadn't recognised her at first; he'd never heard her speaking in a normal tone before.

He sighed. "What do you want?"

"I know you visited Jacob! I told you I don't want you near him!" she screeched.

"Yeah, well, I don't really give a shit about what you want," Ian said airily. He felt so light that not even Lucy's upper-class bitchiness could get him down.

To his surprise, Lucy suddenly emitted a sob. Ian sat up. "What? Is he okay?"

"Don't you ever come near my family again," she said, her voice cracking.

A sense of foreboding crept over Ian. "What's going on?" he asked warily.

"This is your fault!" she cried. "You did this to my boy, my baby boy..." She trailed off into hiccoughing tears.

It felt as though a grey cloud was stealing over the sunshine of Ian's thoughts. " _What_?" he repeated insistently. "What's happened?"

But he already knew, the way he always knew when it came to Jay. The ray of light that had entered his darkness earlier that day had already faded.

"You killed him," Lucy sobbed. "My son is dead, and it's your fault."

She was still speaking, but Ian had dropped the phone. There was a buzzing in his ears, and he couldn't hear her voice, or Lip's; his brother, noticing his expression, had stood up and was moving towards him. Ian turned away. He was surprised to find that he was on his feet; he didn't remember getting up off the bed.

Jay was dead. Nothing in the whole world, not even Mickey, mattered more than that truth.

Ian could feel the grief already setting into his bones.

He had to get away. He had to leave.

There was nothing left in the whole of his life for him now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man. I just. Don't even.
> 
> What's wrong with me? I have no idea, but I think I'm just one of those really annoying people who gets caught up in life for a few months and then comes back with a vengeance. She says. But no, really, I am really fired up now and I'm even back checking my tumblr, which I haven't done in forever, so yeah. Here's hoping. The main reason I haven't been around lately is that I met someone rather lovely and have since moved in with him (yay!) - found the Ian to my Mickey etc (Yeah, I already said that on my One Day notes, so shoot me, and yeah, he's definitely Ian, he's much nicer than I am). BUT having rushed headlong into a Jesus-Christ-you-are-literally-the-one style romance we've now settled down into more of a yes-I-love-you-to-pieces-but-seriously-my-writing-is-still-just-as-important-as-you kind of thing, so I really am back. I swear. I really really REALLY mean it this time. For real though.
> 
> Also a big slightly tearful thank you to Avalonia, whose kind words have left me smiling all day! I have actually been planning a present for you anyway because of all your help getting me on tumblr, but it's going to take a little while for various reasons that will become clear soonish, so just wanted to let you know I do appreciate it all!
> 
> Even though I don't deserve them I do love reading everyone's comments! Hit me up on tumblr: http://13callieb.tumblr.com/


	32. New State, New Me

_“_ _Philip."_   _Ian made himself look into the eyes of the young, admittedly cute corporal at the bus. He was going to have to get used to answering to his brother_ _’_ _s name._

 _“_ _It's_ _Lip,_ _”_ _he said. The soldier barely looked up._

_“It’s just Gallagher now. Get on.”_

_And that was it. It was that easy. As Ian swung his heavy holdall onto the bus, he felt a weight he hadn_ _’_ _t even known he was carrying lift away. It was the weight of his identity, his life; he could be anyone now. He didn_ _’_ _t have to be Ian._

_He was Philip Gallagher. He didn_ _’_ _t even have to be Lip. He could be anyone he wanted to._

Three months and four days later, Gally woke up. His head was pounding, probably due to a combination of the long ruck and heavy drinking session yesterday; he pushed himself up onto his elbows, swiping a hand through his sweaty hair.

Beside him, Bloom shifted slightly in his sleep, one hand reaching blindly out beside him. There was no one to find. Gally had only been training for three months, but he was already well known as someone you didn’t get too attached to. He’d been through most of the recruits and half the officers by now. Bloom should know better than to think he was anything special.

Gally eased himself out of his sleeping bag. The December air was frozen around him; he rubbed the tops of his arms, reaching for his shirt. The alcohol and Bloom’s body heat had been enough to keep him warm through the night, but now that dawn was beginning to break, he didn’t want to be caught out in the open with no top on. Knowing Sergeant Major Cross – another of Gally’s old flames – he’d send the whole company on a five-mile shirtless run as punishment.

He ignored Bloom, who was as equally unattired. He didn’t really give a shit if Bloom got himself into trouble.

He had had just about enough of giving a shit about other people.

Once he was dressed, thermals tucked underneath his uniform, he laced up his boots and made his way over to the mess area. A couple of the other guys were already up; mostly officers. The rest of the recruits were getting all the sleep they could before wake-up; they’d been on this ruck for five days now. Day six was the last one; Gally was looking forward to getting back to base. He was sick of the company, sick of the same tired men presenting the same tired asses for him to fuck.

Honestly, it was all too much like hard work at this point.

“Gally,” Corporal Harridon said in greeting as he approached, holding out a mess tin. Harridon was the same corporal who had met him when he got on the bus; he worked in recruitment, and was one of the only people Gally actually had respect for. Maybe because he’d firmly turned down all Gally’s sexual advances, despite Gally being about 97% certain that he was dick-inclined. That was kind of rare.

“Harridon,” Gally replied, equally terse as he took the tin. It was too early for any real conversation.

As he ate, Gally thought about the past three months. He’d thought that joining the army was his dream; he’d thought there wasn’t any point waiting, now that… But he wouldn’t think about what had happened. He wouldn’t think about it. No one could make him.

He’d gone to some guys he’d heard about to get the necessary ID; he knew Lip wouldn’t mind. Lip understood. He needed to get away. It had been almost fun to throw away Ian Gallagher, to become someone completely different: Philip Gallagher. After Harridon on the bus, he hadn’t used the name Lip. He didn’t need to be Lip; he could be his own man. Someone plucked out of his imagination.

The name Gally had almost been an accident. He’d been screwing another recruit, a rather sexy flop-haired kid called Jessop who’d become one of his closer friends since, and the guy had been drunk. Absolutely, drooling, slurring drunk. He’d been trying to say ‘Gallagher’ as he came – Gally had firmly rejected being called Philip, Phil, or any other variation thereof – but his fumbling lips had not managed it. Thus he had shouted out ‘Gally’, loudly enough that three or four other recruits waiting to use the showers had overheard. It had stuck.

So had his reputation. Jessop had been his first, but not his last fuck by any means. He’d gone through them all: the out-and-prouds who got bullied by the officers, the closeted motherfuckers with girlfriends and kids, the ones who weren’t really that way inclined but hadn’t had a blow-job in forever – everyone knew it. Gally would fuck anyone, and he didn’t care who knew about it.

Gally was a fiction, a character he had created. Gally could be anything he wanted. Gally could do anything, accomplish anything. Gally would punch through anyone who got in his way.

It was an irritating, intrusive thought, but it wouldn’t leave him alone. He knew the truth. Gally was Mickey.

Well, there was nothing really wrong with that, was there? He could be Mickey, or at least a version of Mickey, without all the fear that kept him closeted and hidden. He could be anything he wanted to.

But training hadn’t quite been the escape he had wanted. He had certainly left Chicago behind, that was for sure; the drive to Columbia had taken almost thirteen hours, and then there’d been another six to get to Virginia after he’d completed Basic Training. He was at Fort Eustis, doing his AIT at the Aviation Logistics School. He liked the idea of looking after helicopters. Might even get to fly one, one of these days. He’d only been here for a couple of weeks.

Yeah, it was hundreds of miles away from where he had come from. He was striking out on his own, with no one to hold him back or get in the way. But it wasn’t everything he had hoped for. He didn’t even know what he _had_ hoped for, but it wasn’t this.

He had Jessop, who was friendly but still a little aloof, and he had the multitude of guys he was fucking, but other than that there wasn’t anyone he could really confide in. Not that he wanted to. Confiding in people had never been his strong suit anyway, and now even less so than before. Confiding in people, trusting them, letting yourself become attached to them… That was what left you open to a great fucking kick in the gut when they went and died.

It was better to stand tall and decide not to give a shit about anyone or anything. That’s what he had decided, on the long bus ride here. But the trouble with that attitude was that it left a lot of people pissed off with you. Officers, who didn’t like mouthy teenagers refusing to take any crap; wounded lovers bitching about how quickly they became a notch on his bedpost; older married soldiers hating themselves for wanting him and resenting him for it.

People, Gally thought, don’t like other people being free. Especially in the army.

Later that night, when he was pounding into Sergeant Duncan’s ass with all the force of a speeding train, he thought about it again. Sergeant Major Cross had given him shit all the way back from the ruck, until he’d been forced to answer back and the whole company were given laps and push-ups in punishment.

Sergeant Major Cross hated Gally. He had kissed him once – just a kiss, just once – in the mess hall when everyone else had gone, and then never spoke to him again. After that every frustration Cross had seemed to be directed at Gally. Gally didn’t care. He didn’t bother trying to fuck his way into favour. Guys like Cross – married with fucking _grandchildren_ , for Christ’s sake – made him scornful. What was the point in hiding who you were?

It was one thing to create an entirely new personality. To pretend you loved a woman when you practically had rainbows hanging out of your ass was something entirely different. Gally had nothing but contempt for Cross, and Cross knew it. It made his hatred that much more bitter.

Gally felt the need to _do_ something, to prove his independence once and for all. He might be in the army, but he was more than just a piece in the military machine. He was his own man. They needed to understand that, to see that one man could be important on his own as well.

What could he do? He came as he thought about it, pulling out of Duncan somewhat gracelessly. The soldier groaned and bucked forward, rolling off the cabinet he’d been bent over and onto the floor. Gally watched dispassionately, using Duncan’s shirt to wipe up the splatters of semen on the floor.

“Fuck, give a guy some warning!” Duncan moaned, still clutching his ass. Gally raised an eyebrow.

“You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but…” Duncan broke off, pulling up his pants. He was still looking aggrievedly at Gally.

Gally didn’t bother to answer. He’d just thought of the perfect way to prove himself. He was here to learn about helicopters, wasn’t he? Well, why shouldn’t he fly one? He’d played enough video games with Mandy to know that it was easier than the jackasses here made out. He’d learned a little bit anyway. He could do it, he knew he could. They’d be out in the yard with the Chinook tomorrow. All he had to do was slip around the back – O’Brien would give him a pass, he was too afraid of what Gally could tell his wife – and get behind the controls.

Then they’d see who he was. Not Gally or Gallagher or Philip or Ian but the _truth_ of him. The real him. That deep-down person that no one saw, no one even touched on, not even Mickey. He’d come bursting out in that helicopter and they’d all know. They’d all see.

He left Duncan to figure out how to get back to barracks with a shirt covered in spunk, stalking away back to his own. He shared with eleven other recruits; when he entered the room, the usual ribaldry began.

“Who’d you get this time, Gally?” Jessop asked good-humouredly. He was from Chicago, too. They’d met on the bus. Gally flashed him a rare smile, but he didn’t answer.

“I hear Robertson couldn’t ruck for a week after you,” Theodore chimed in.

“Bet his broad weren’t best pleased,” Watson drawled.

“Hey, Gally, I hear you got your girlfriend pregnant,” Jeffers said with a smirk. Gally raised an eyebrow.

“Not my game,” he said.

There was a round of laughter, and Keith rustled his fingers underneath Fields’ nose. “Pay up, man. Told you Gally wasn’t into bitches.”

Fields gave him the finger, but passed him ten dollars all the same. Gally sat down on the edge of his bed, unlacing his boots. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the others betting on his sex life; he decided he didn’t care. They could do what they liked. He didn’t give a shit.

“Looking forward to getting at the machines tomorrow?” Jessop asked.

Gally shrugged. He was, but not for the reason Jessop imagined; he couldn’t wait to put his plan into action. Part of him was tempted to just go and do it now; he was itching to get behind the controls of a helicopter, to take charge of his own life for once. But he knew it would be next to impossible to get past the security protecting the Chinook at night. He would just have to wait until the morning.

A thought occurred to him. He looked over at Jeffers. “Why did you think I got someone pregnant?”

Jeffers shrugged. “Anderson told me,” he said.

Gally rolled his eyes. “You believe all the shit Anderson comes out with?”

“Guess not,” Jeffers said sleepily, settling into his bed. “He sounded pretty convinced, though. Said your brother told him.”

Gally’s head turned sharply towards him. “What?” His voice was like a whip.

“Yeah, Gally, didn’t you hear?” Jessop said. “Figured they must have told you.”

“Told me what?” Gally asked urgently.

“Your brother called,” Jessop said. “Looking for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No more excuses, no more promises! I don't even know why everything seems to take forever. For those who have stuck with me, you are all saints and angels, and I am very sorry I am such an awful writer to follow. But here it is, another chapter, and I might even get out another one tomorrow. You never know. Miracles might happen!
> 
> Much love to you all for your patience, and for all the lovely comments I still get despite being so horrendously absent!
> 
> Oh, and as an added note, I did my very best with American military terms, but if I've made any mistakes I apologise. I have some experience with the British military, but it turns out they're not actually very similar. A 'ruck' is what we here in the UK call a tab, and it is a loaded march with full rucksacks. 'Mess' is your food, so mess tins are plates and mess halls are dining rooms, and 'barracks' are bedrooms. Those bits at least are the same! I'm sure most people know this already, but I always hate having to look up terms when I'm reading, so just in case :)


	33. Smell As Sweet As Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for quite fucked-up sex. Not quite sure how else to describe it.

Monica always had a thing about Shakespeare. She used to watch all the dramatized versions on bootlegged DVDs, wrapping herself in a duvet on a particularly nasty hangover and fast-forwarding to the death scenes. He could remember her saying that there was nothing like a Shakespearian death. She had the plays, too, in an enormous black leather book that weighed a ton and had gold-edged, tissue-paper thin pages. She’d read them sometimes – often when she was coming out of a low phase – and shout out her favourite quotes, underlining them with a pen or pencil or lipstick or whatever else came to hand.

He hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Just written it off, another crazy Monica thing. But now… he could kind of see the elegance in it. Those words, magical words, sticking in your brain.

_A rose by any other name would smell as sweet_. One of his current favourites.

He had had to move on, after the helicopter. He should have known that no one would see it for the gesture it was supposed to be. To be fair, tipping it hadn’t been part of the plan. That kind of took away from the grandeur.

The army hadn’t been for him anyway; he could see that now. He didn’t like being told what to do, didn’t like being told who to be. But he had liked being Gally. Taking on a new personality, deciding to be someone totally different. And then discarding him when he outlived his usefulness.

So now he was going to do the same thing again. He was sitting opposite a couple of guys in Burger King, both in their thirties. One of them, the one with the beanie hat covering his greasy dark hair, had just asked him for his name.

He looked sideways, out of the window. The snow lay thick on the ground of the parking lot, cars skidding and sliding across it. It made him think of Monica, his beautiful, flaky, crazy mother. Maybe she wasn’t as crazy as everyone had made out. Maybe they’d all underestimated her.

She would understand wanting to get away, wanting to be someone else. She knew what it felt like to feel confused and miserable. To feel the way he was feeling right now. He thought of her, reading her Shakespeare, smoking cigarettes and laughing at some stupid chat show on TV. Sometimes, when she was low, she’d put on old British punk CDs and just lie on her bed in a cloud of smoke, mournfully humming along. Sex Pistols, The Clash, The Stranglers, Joy Division. She’d once told him that she’d named him for Ian Curtis, Joy Division’s lead singer.

He’d looked up the guy. Apparently he’d killed himself before he hit twenty-five.

Still, it was a legacy of sorts. He turned back to the guy in front of him, to reality.

“My name’s Curtis. And I’ll blow you for a ride to New Jersey.”

They dropped him in Trenton before they headed back down to Delaware; Curtis hiked his bag up onto his shoulders and headed downtown. He’d never been out of Illinois before he joined up, but he was finding more and more that cities in America tended to follow the same basic pattern; it was pretty easy to find the social scene. It was coming on for almost ten; just about the right time to find an easy lay.

He ended up in some small dive bar, his bag and jacket safely stowed away in the cloakroom. It was fairly packed, but the crowd was pretty rough. He’d already spotted two fights being broken up by an enormous bouncer. He sat on a stool at the bar, gulping down his third beer as he surveyed the scene.

Someone sidled up to him; he could tell it was a girl without even looking, because of the immediate scent of cheap perfume. She laid a hand on his arm, manicured fingernails digging into his skin.

“You here alone?” She had to practically shout above the thumping music.

He looked down at her. She was quite pretty in a generic kind of way, blonde hair in a high sleek ponytail and big blue eyes. But her nose was too thin, her chin too pointy. She didn’t have the same kind of interesting features as, say, Mandy. But Curtis pushed that thought out of his mind. He wasn’t going to think about Mandy any more.

“Looks like it,” he told her.

“Doesn’t have to stay that way,” she said, raising an over-plucked eyebrow. “Want to maybe buy me a drink?”

He couldn’t help it. He hesitated. He needed a place to stay; he didn’t want to be sleeping on the streets tonight. Maybe Curtis was the kind of guy who fucked girls. Maybe Curtis would do anything it took to get by.

He moved his head towards her, inhaled her odour of body cream and perfume and sweat. It was slightly floral, the smell of a well-groomed female with soft skin and breasts and a vagina. He pulled sharply away.

“You’re pretty charming,” he said. She smiled. He went on, leaning slightly forward for emphasis: “Try using it on someone who’s interested.”

The flirtatious smirk dropped from her face, making her look distinctly rat-like. “Asshole,” she hissed, stalking away. Curtis threw back the last of his drink. Turned out there were some things he wouldn’t do, no matter who he was being – Ian, Gally, Curtis or anyone else. He fucked men. No one else.

It made him feel pretty good. No matter who he chose to be, he would always be true to himself. If he betrayed that, he’d be no better than fucking Sergeant Major Cross. Or Mickey.

But he stopped that thought too. He wasn’t going to think about Mickey either.

He felt a little less victorious when the music started winding down around two in the morning and he still didn’t have a place to crash. He’d made a few subtle attempts, but nearly every guy in here seemed to be straight, and Curtis was not about to risk a fag-bashing by being more transparent. His head was pounding, and he was exhausted. The drive from Virginia had taken seven hours, and that wasn’t even counting the number of times they’d had to stop so the driver could collect on the payment he felt Curtis owed him for the ride. His jaw was aching, and all he wanted to do was lay his head down somewhere and sleep. He wasn’t used to going into a bar and not being in demand.

At least, by the right people. Plenty of girls had approached him, but he’d turned every one down with the same grace as he had the first.

“Hey, man. Can I have your glass?” It was the bartender. He was kind of cute, Curtis registered blearily, although he didn’t look the slightest bit interested in anything but the tankard Curtis was clutching.

He held it out, but didn’t release it to the bartender. Instead, he leaned across the bar. He was aware that he was drunk, and probably acting kind of fucking ridiculous, but he was pretty low on options at the moment.

“Anywhere around here stay open later than this place?” he slurred. The bartender sighed.

“You really think you should be drinking any more?” he asked.

Curtis rolled his eyes. “What are you, my fucking keeper?”

“Christ,” the bartender muttered. “Give me the damn glass.” Curtis released it. “Okay, man, here’s the deal. You’re not going to find what you’re looking for here. What you want, it’s in Mill Hill. Couple blocks south of here. There’s a few bars, clubs, that kind of thing; lots of dudes looking for the same thing you are, you know?”

Curtis considered this. “You go there a lot?”

The bartender’s eyes flicked shiftily from left to right. “Yeah, I guess. I don’t talk about it here though. Guys here, they’re not exactly the tolerant type.”

“Well, how about I wait ‘til your shift finishes and you take me?” Curtis asked. He grinned, leaning closer. “You seem like the guy to know.”

“Fucking tourists,” the bartender said, but he was smiling. “Get the fuck out, man.” He lowered his voice. “Wait for me down the side alley.”

Curtis smiled even wider as he hopped down from the bar stool. “See you out there.”

After the sticky stuffiness of the dark club, the night air was fresh and crisp on his face. He could almost _feel_ his mind beginning to clear, the drunkenness lifting slightly. He strode down the little alleyway on the left-hand side of the bar, leaning against the wall with his arms folded in front of him. He realised he hadn’t even asked the guy’s name.

It was about half an hour before the bartender finally joined him; his cool-as-a-cucumber pose had gone from sexy to somewhat stiff, but he maintained a cocky grin as the guy sauntered over.

“So about these clubs,” he began, but he didn’t get much further. The bartender smashed their mouths together, and it took about a quarter of a second for Curtis to close his eyes and sink into it.

“My apartment’s just over the street,” the bartender breathed in his ear.

“Awesome,” Curtis replied. He laughed, suddenly; the world seemed wild and wonderful around him. “Dude, what’s your name?”

“Thomas,” the bartender replied. “What’s yours?”

He didn’t know why he said it. He’d chosen a name for himself, here in New Jersey; he was Curtis. He should have said Curtis. But somehow, in the heat of that delirious, laughing moment, a different name popped out of his mouth.

“Mickey.”

“Cute,” Thomas replied. He was guiding Curtis across the street, unlocking a battered-looking red front door. Curtis allowed himself to be led up a narrow flight of stairs and into a dingy apartment.

“Nice place,” he said sarcastically. The wallpaper was peeling and brown, the carpet oddly stained. It was a studio, the kitchen tiny and grimy in one corner, the large unmade bed dominating most of the room. The bathroom was less of a room and more of a toilet and shower head over a drain behind a paper screen.

“Hey, fuck you, man,” Thomas said without rancour. “I don’t see you with anywhere to call home.”

_Home_. For a second Curtis was lurched back into an untidy sprawling house with two staircases and a laundry chute and an annotated calendar on the fridge; then he pushed the image to the back of his mind. “You planning on talking all night?”

Thomas grinned. “I reckon I can find a better use for my mouth.”

Yeah, it turned out he could. He pulled down Curtis’ pants and boxers in one fumbling motion, sucking him into his mouth with a slurping sound that Curtis found slightly distasteful; however, this thought was soon lost in the truly delightful sensation of Thomas blowing him.

It had been a long time since Curtis had had a blow-job. In the army, it had been all about the fucking, less about the foreplay, and before that there had only been that one, singular, spectacular blow-job Mickey had given him. But he would not think about Mickey. It had probably only felt that good because it had been one of the only ones he’d ever had from someone other than Kash, who gave the worst head ever. Thomas was pretty good. Not as great as he remembered Mickey being, but that was just rose-tinted glasses. This was nice. He could lose himself in this.

And he did, tipping his head back and closing his eyes as he stood wide-legged in the middle of the unpleasant apartment, relaxing into the feeling of a mouth on his cock without letting himself think about anything else until he was coming, coming hard into Thomas’ mouth, streaming down the bartender’s chin, panting and gasping.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Not bad.”

Thomas laughed breathlessly, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. “Not bad? I’m amazed you managed to come at all, what with the amount you’ve had to drink.”

“You sound like my sister,” Curtis mumbled. He waddled over to the bed, his pants still bundled around his ankles, and crashed down onto it.

“Your sister comments on your ability to come while drunk?” Thomas asked, coming to lie down beside him.

“Nah, my sister comments on how much I drink,” he replied. This wasn’t really true; he’d just been remembering one particular occasion, where Fiona had used almost the exact same words Thomas just had. He’d been hungover, complaining about how he’d had to walk all the way home from The Alibi because Kev, who had promised to give him a ride in his truck, had stayed late to fuck Vee in the back room; Fiona had snorted, and said: _“_ _Frankly, Ian, I_ _’_ _m amazed you managed to walk at all, what with the amount you_ _’_ _d had to drink!_ _”_

Just a stupid memory. But he wasn’t going to tell Thomas about it.

“What’s your sister’s name?” Thomas asked him. He reached a hand down, interlocking his fingers with Curtis’.

He didn’t want to speak Fiona’s name. Not here. Not now. But then, who was Fiona? She was Ian’s sister, and he wasn’t Ian. Not to Thomas. To Thomas, he was Mickey.

“Her name is Mandy,” he said. “She’s a couple of years younger than me, but she’s a smartass.”

That could be real. He could be Mickey. He was Mickey, and Mandy was his sister.

“Just one sister?” Thomas asked.

“One sister. Four brothers,” he replied. Yes. He was Mickey. He was tough-guy Mickey, with tattooed knuckles and baggy tank-tops and a smile to die for. He could take over the world, because he would just punch anyone who tried to stop him. He didn’t have to love anyone or anything. Except Ian Gallagher. Mickey loved Ian Gallagher.

He looked at Thomas. The bartender was a little shorter than he was, and his hair was light brown rather than red, but here in the darkness, he could be Ian Gallagher. He had freckles, and he was strong like Ian Gallagher. And if Mickey was here in a bed with Ian Gallagher, what would he do?

He licked his lips salaciously. “You want to get on me?”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t take you for a bottom.”

“Hey, liking what I like don’t make me a bitch,” Curtis replied, channelling Mickey through his words, through his hands gripping the sheets, through his treacherous eyes running up and down the other man’s body.

Thomas raised his hands. “Hey, hey, no worries, I go both ways.”

“Good,” Curtis said firmly. He leapt, pinning the bartender down. He was Mickey, and he was about to get fucked by Ian Gallagher, because that was what Mickey loved doing the best.

He loved wrestling with Ian Gallagher, and being flipped onto his stomach, and feeling strong freckled hands running lightly down his spine. He loved the touch of fingertips at his ass – God, that felt fucking weird, but shut up, shut up, you’re Mickey – and the cold slick of lube. He loved being stretched out, feeling the burn of a cock inside him, pushing and probing, hurting – but no, it didn’t hurt. That was what it was supposed to feel like.

Ian Gallagher was fucking him, and that was what the world was supposed to look like. He was Mickey, and Mickey was supposed to be fucked by Ian Gallagher. There was nothing else on Earth clearer to him than that truth.

He came with a roar, shouting out his own name. “Fuck, Gallagher!”

He was high on it, delirious with it, with the sensation and the pleasure and the pain – quite a lot of pain, but who gave a shit? – of being fucked by Ian Gallagher, of being Mickey, of the world aligning itself properly again. He barely felt Thomas coming, collapsing down on top of him, rolling away from him with their skin sticking together with sweat and spunk and God knew what else.

For a while there was just the sound of both of them panting, their hearts gradually slowing to a normal pace. Then Thomas propped his head up on one shoulder, and said: “Who’s Gallagher?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, not the next day, but two days wasn't too bad! This chapter... turned out weird. But kind of necessary, I think? We're now in the interim period between seasons 2 and 3, so obviously there's quite a lot that's happened at home that Ian doesn't know about, which will affect his life in different ways than it did canon... but it's a lot more planned out than a lot of what I've previously brought to the table, so hopefully it'll all work out okay!


End file.
